


In the End Is Our Beginning

by usakeh



Category: Homeland
Genre: Depression, F/M, Mental Illness, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/pseuds/usakeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after being gassed by the terrorists, Quinn is still recovering. Carrie stays by his side every step of the way. But can she help him if he no longer thinks that his life is worth living?</p><p>(This was written before Season 6. It's AU now. Frankly, I prefer it to what's happened, but that's just me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstronautMikeDexter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautMikeDexter/gifts).



> If suicidal thoughts are a trigger for you, do not under any circumstances read this story. I wrote some of it while severely depressed myself, as a sort of therapy. But I don't want it to hurt anyone, so please avoid if you have trouble dealing with stories in which suicidal thoughts play a major part.

She said it would be “just the thing for him” right now.

Six months had passed since he’d been exposed to the sarin and he was still, as Carrie euphemistically put it, “recovering.” His lungs were damaged, most likely permanently. His hands shook. He had horrible, crippling headaches. He was constantly being triggered into flashbacks spanning the whole of his career, but mostly of being there, of being trapped, of feeling death slowly clawing its way through him and being utterly unable to respond.

But worst of all were the days, and they were increasing in number, when he couldn’t do – or _feel_ – anything at all.

He was constantly exhausted, but sleep brought with it no release, no relaxation. Instead, he’d wake every time in a cold sweat. She suggested it after he fell asleep at his place only to wake up screaming himself hoarse, with Carrie shaking him into full alertness.

“It’s peaceful there,” Carrie promised. “It’s no panacea, and I still really think you need to see someone. I know they forced you to already, but I know you. You wouldn’t have admitted to any of what I’ve seen.”

He’d looked at her blankly, hoping she’d just drop the subject and move the fuck _on._

“Anyway, I think you’d like it. Will you go with me? We can leave tonight, if you’re up for it.”

“I think I’ve already been there,” Quinn responded flatly.

“When?” Carrie asked, frowning. “I’ve never taken you.”

“You and Brody went there. Estes put me on your team to eliminate Brody. I tracked the two of you to that location, a cabin in the woods.”

“Estes put you–”

“Only I didn’t.”

“Obviously! Why not, Quinn? I’m genuinely curious.”

“You loved him,” he replied, as if it should have been obvious. Honestly, he was too exhausted to be having this fucking conversation. But Carrie didn’t give up – as usual – and it took a headache coming on for him to get out of it.

Immediately, Carrie went from puzzled interrogator to concerned caregiver. Why she still worried, he had no idea. Guilt, probably. Knowing her, she probably blamed herself for having gotten him into that situation, even though it was his fault, not hers. It was absurd, but no matter how many time he tried to explain that she had _nothing_ to do with him being there, she insisted on looking out for him, coming around to his apartment as often as she could.

“Quinn, where are your pills?” Carrie asked, looking around the apartment.

It was surprising how messy it had become when he had so few items in his possession. But dirty clothes he couldn’t be bothered to pick up or wash littered the floor, the bed was unmade, and the apartment’s emptiness somehow only made it a _more_ depressing sight. Carrie kept bringing more stuff every time she came over, and tidying up, but it quickly reverted to its most chaotic state once she left again.

“Oh, never mind, found them.”

She filled up a glass with tap water and brought the orange vial over to him. The pain was excruciating and unrelenting, and, sky-high tolerance for pain notwithstanding, Quinn moaned aloud. Carrie shook out two pills and placed them in his palm.

“C’mon, Quinn. Take them. They’ll help.”

He swallowed them without even needing water and then miserably accepted her offer of assistance to go from the worn armchair to his bed, where he curled up in the fetal position until the painkillers kicked in and the pain lessened.

Fucking hell. He wished it had just killed him, he really did. Fucking Qasim and his fucking atropine injector. This would all be over if not for him, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be lying around a dirty apartment twenty-four hours a day, alternating between pain and panic.

Besides, he was useless now. At least before he’d had a mission, had skills to use, people to protect. Now he was the one draining someone else’s resources, sucking up Carrie’s time and energy when he had nothing to give her in return.

And now she wanted to take her to the very same special place she’d shared with Brody. Now that he was no longer any good for her, _now_ she wanted to share it all with him, when he’d waited, and waited, and _waited_. But it was too late now.

She had to be made to understand that, only it seemed that the more he tried to push her away, the more determined she became to stay a part of his life.

“Feeling any better?” Carrie asked.

He nodded.

Why was Carrie so fucking _stubborn_? Couldn’t she just leave him the fuck alone? He didn’t ask for this.

He didn’t want any of this.

If only Carrie hadn’t taken his sidearm away – it had been _one_ comment, one stupid fucking comment that just slipped out – he could end it himself that way. Of course, he could always go buy a new gun at a gun shop, but he hadn’t the energy for that right now. So here he was.

Stuck.

Then, suddenly, he thought of the pain pills. Those would do in a pinch, provided there were enough of them left in the bottle. He’d never thought he’d have to resort to pills, but there they were and he suddenly had the perfect plan, the perfect opportunity.

That cabin was miles from any sort of hospital or medical facility. If Carrie got to him before he was dead, she still wouldn’t be able to get to a doctor who could revive him in time. It really was just the thing for him, after all.

An uneasy feeling took him over for a second, something that felt suspiciously like guilt. Carrie would only feel worse if he took advantage of her invitation to off himself there. Then the feeling vanished, to be replaced only by a tremendous sense of relief, as if the fog that had enveloped him for weeks now had finally faded away. He’d be free. He’d never been meant to survive the sarin; Carrie had described what had happened as a “medical miracle.”

He wasn’t killing himself; he was half-dead already.

He was just finishing the job they’d started all those weeks ago.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Carrie visibly brightened – and there it was again, the guilty feeling – and started doing her usual tidying of his place. “It won’t be a surprise, but I think you’ll find it beneficial anyway. I always have.”

Quinn didn’t reply. Simply wanting silence, he pretended he’d fallen asleep. That happened a lot lately, anyway. He never slept for long – the nightmares made sure of that much – but he was always fatigued, always just falling asleep in the middle of conversations. He’d started faking it a lot too; thus far Carrie, surprisingly, hadn’t caught on to it.

Soon enough, he went from faking sleep to truly sleeping, and stayed that way for a good three hours. When he woke up to Carrie shaking him, he tried to take a deep breath and only ended up with a coughing fit. He couldn’t breathe. _Fuck, he couldn’t breathe._ Next thing he knew, he was in the chamber again, the gas spilling in and crowding out the air, his lungs fighting a futile battle as the tears streamed down his cheeks and his mouth filled with spit.

He could hear a voice in the background, calm and measured. Then something was slipped under his tongue. He felt it dissolving, and soon he was back in his small, squalid room with Carrie, who was holding yet another vial of pills in her hand.

“Xanax,” she said, by way of explanation. “It looks like it helped. I couldn’t calm you down. You usually snap out of it faster; I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

Quinn nodded, unable to say anything with so much adrenaline still in his system. Another, worse, coughing fit followed, which ended with him wheezing desperately as his damaged lungs desperately tried to take in enough air. It hurt like hell.

“Fuck,” Carrie mumbled. In a flash, she grabbed the oxygen tank he kept close, opened up the valve, and placed the mask over his mouth and nose. Quinn held it in place.

His breathing improved fast, and the burning sensation lessened. Once he felt ready, he took off the mask. Fucking nightmares. They ended like this half the time, it felt like. They kept telling him there was still a chance his lungs could recover from the trauma, but as time passed, that seemed less and less likely. At least the Xanax had prevented him from panicking again.

Once he fully recovered, Quinn asked Carrie if she’d mind bringing the bottle of Xanax with her to the cabin. It would go well with the pain pills, he thought. There was no fucking way he was going to _almost_ die again; this time, he wanted to make sure that there’d be no saving him.

“You know, if you saw a psychiatrist, they could prescribe this to you so that you, too, could have your very own pharmacy,” Carrie began. “But since I know you’re not going to do that, I’ll bring it, even though, strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to share this stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Carrie responded, then sighed heavily. “So, should we leave tonight, or wait until tomorrow morning? You must be wiped out after all of that.”

The sooner the better, Quinn thought. It wouldn’t be hard. Once she took her medication, Carrie was actually a pretty deep sleeper. And he knew how to be quiet. At least, he had once; it was substantially harder to be invisible now that he was so fucking _broken._

Not that it mattered.

Soon enough, this would all be over.

Finally, Quinn responded, “Let’s leave tonight.”

“You sure? You’ve had it pretty rough today. Your breathing hasn’t gotten that bad in a while. I just don’t want you to push yourself too much.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Carrie nodded and said, “Okay then. I’ll help you get your stuff together, and then we’ll stop at my place briefly so I can grab a few essentials. Sound good?”

Quinn nodded. If he didn’t feel so peaceful, her relentless enthusiasm, whether forced or genuine, would be getting on his nerves by now. But nothing could irk him now, not with oblivion only a few hours away. So he simply lay back in bed and shut his eyes while Carrie busied herself with sorting through his things.

As she did so, it occurred to him that there was a time when even the smallest sign that Carrie cared about him as a person, and not just a weapon at her disposal, was enough to set his heart racing. It’s only now that he doesn’t want her taking care of him. His life effectively ended when he was put in that gas chamber, and even Carrie’s guilt-induced fussing could not change that.

“Quinn? I think I’ve got everything. I hate to ask again, but are you absolutely _sure_ you’re up for this?”

He opened his eyes, slowly sat up, and nodded.

“I won’t be doing much tonight, anyway,” he added. “You’re the one who’ll be doing all the driving. I can just rest.”

“All right, then.” Carrie zipped up his suitcase. “I’ll take this, and your oxygen. You take this,” she said, handing him a small backpack. “When we get back, mind you, I am cleaning up your apartment again. This is fucking depressing, Quinn.”

Tell me about it, Quinn thought. He opened the small backpack and found that, among other things, it contained the pain pills and Xanax. Perfect. He wouldn’t even have to bother digging through a suitcase for them. Carrie had already given him exactly what he needed.

Slowly, they headed out of Quinn’s apartment building and packed everything into Carrie’s car. Quinn slid into the passenger seat, and Carrie took her place beside him. She looked at him fondly for a while, then ran her hands through his hair affectionately before starting to drive.

The trip took a while, and maybe it was being in the car that helped, but he actually had a relatively peaceful nap for a few hours, waking slowly rather than abruptly, as he did from his nightmares. Carrie glanced at him and smiled, broadly, and for a second he wasn’t quite sure.

Maybe he could still find happiness in life. Maybe there was still a chance for him and Carrie, even though he was damaged beyond repair. But no. He couldn’t do that to her, make her the permanent caretaker for an invalid.

Besides, what had happened to him was not her fault, and her new approach to him was only the result of her thinking it was. It wasn’t right. He couldn’t burden her this way. She had a career to which to return. Plus, plenty of other men would happily take his place at her side.

There was a time when this would have changed everything for him.

Now it was too little, too late.

Or was it? Hadn’t this – getting out, together – always been his dream, his ultimate goal? What if his lungs did heal, so that he wouldn’t need to carry around oxygen for emergencies? Maybe a psychiatrist really could help him with whatever this was. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

He could get a degree and find a job that wasn’t so physically demanding. He was a killer, but maybe, just maybe, he could make up for all the damage he’d done by doing something good, something right. He could work for an NGO, for instance, and put his knowledge of other countries to good use, for a change.

“You okay, there?” Carrie asked, her voice breaking up his internal debate.

“Yeah. Why?” Quinn asked, voice rough.

“You’re really quiet, is all.”

“I’m always quiet,” Quinn responded.

“Yeah, but these days you’re _really_ quiet. I’m just a little worried, is all. I can’t imagine what you went through, what you are still going through, but when you’re ready to talk about it, just know that I’m here. I’ll listen. And it won’t scare me. You can’t push me away, Quinn. Okay?”

He simply nodded, feeling guiltier than ever. If Carrie blamed herself for what happened in Berlin, she’d _definitely_ blame herself for him killing himself in her cabin. He’d ruin the place for her. He wasn’t Brody. He couldn’t ever replace Brody. But Carrie was only just recovering from _that_ loss, and the loss of her life with Jonas in Berlin. Sure, he was in pain. In too much to want to live any longer. But what he was going to do was still really fucking selfish.

“And I want you to know, Quinn, that I made a mistake, two years ago. I let you leave. I didn’t give you a definitive answer. I don’t know if it even matters to you anymore, but I can answer you now. Yes. It’s yes, Quinn. It was all along; I was just too fucking stupid to see it until it was almost too late. But you lived! You lived, Quinn. I know it hasn’t been a picnic since then but you lived, and now I can tell you how much you mean to me. Does that mean anything to you, Quinn? I know it did, that day we kissed. Does it still, or is it too late? Did you give up on me?”

“Not on you, Carrie. Never on you,” Quinn responded softly. “But you deserve better.”

“Quinn, you have _always_ been loyal to me, even when all I’ve done is use that loyalty to manipulate you. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve _you_. I’m trying to make up for it now. Can’t you understand that? Can’t you see that?”

Quinn took a deep a breath as he could and exhaled slowly.

“I know you are, Carrie. But you don’t have to, because this isn’t your fault. You can’t throw away your life trying to take care of me. Just look at me! I’m not getting better, and I’m not going to get better. This is as good as it’s going to get, for me.”

“No, it’s not! You may not listen to the doctors, but I do. There’s still a chance.”

“Carrie, I can’t live my life this way! I can’t just keep hoping for something that’s never going to happen! I don’t have anything to offer you. I can’t help you. I can only be a burden, and I refuse to be that. It would have been better if they’d just killed me. Do _you_ understand _that_?”

Carrie slammed on the breaks. Then, after taking a deep breath, she pulled over to the side of the highway and turned to look at him.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ say that, Quinn. I don’t care that you can’t help me. It’s my turn to help you. Maybe you can’t get your old job back, but didn’t you always want out of that mess anyway? You’re free! You can start over. And I’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this to her. It wasn’t right. This was the perfect opportunity; he’d never get a better one. But Carrie had seen him almost dead twice already, and he wasn’t going to let her be the one to find his dead body. He could hang on a few more weeks, until Carrie really and truly understood how hopeless the situation was and gave up, too.

“Quinn?” Carrie sounded scared. “What’s going on with you lately? Please, talk to me. You’re scaring me. You just said it would have been better if they’d killed you. Do you mean that?”

He tried to answer, but he couldn’t, not with Carrie looking at him like that.

“Quinn, are you suicidal? I’m serious. I’ve been there; I know what it feels like to want to die. And I’ve seen it in others, so I know what it looks like. I’m not blaming you for wanting that. But if you do, please, let me check you in to a hospital. Because if it’s that bad, that’s what you need. I know which places are good, and which aren’t. But please, Quinn, say _something_. Tell me that I’m overreacting, tell me that I’m reading too much into this, tell me to shut the fuck up. I don’t care. Just talk to me!”

“I–”

He couldn’t say it; instead, wordlessly, he just handed her the two pill bottles.

“You were planning to–”

Carrie’s eyes filled with tears.

“Fuck, Quinn. _Fuck._ I just – fuck, I’m sorry, that was good, what you just did. It was good. I am so glad you changed your mind. And I am so glad you trust me enough to confess that to me. I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

“It wasn’t,” Quinn responded, flatly. “But you can’t be the one who finds me dead. I owe you too much. It just wouldn’t be right.”

“And I can’t let you kill yourself. We’re changing destinations. I know a place, a good place, in Maryland. It’s quiet, and they let you outside to this lovely patio every day. It doesn’t _feel_ like a hospital at all. And everyone’s respectful and kind there. I’d like you to go voluntarily. Will you? I promise you: this does get better. I can’t promise you that your lungs will heal, but this does get better if you treat it. Trust me, I know.”

“You have bipolar disorder. That does get better when you treat it. Whatever this is won’t, because no matter how many drugs they put me on, I’ll still be out of a job, still have no skills whatsoever, and be stuck with some serious health problems. So don’t act like our situations are the same. They’re not even remotely similar,” Quinn responded.

 _Fuck_. Why did he have to go and confess like that? Carrie would have gotten over it.

“I can also get a doctor to see you and involuntarily commit you,” Carrie threatened. “This place is in Maryland. I just need one licensed person to agree that you need inpatient treatment. And even if you lie, I won’t. But I really don’t want to do that, Quinn. I want this to be your choice.”

“How the fuck is it my choice if you’re threatening me with involuntary commitment?” Quinn snapped.

“Go ahead. Get angry. It’s good to see you express _something_. But you’re getting hospitalized, one way or the other. I don’t care how much you hate me for it right now.”

Quinn sighed, shakily. Maybe Carrie was right. After the heroic efforts of multiple doctors to keep him alive, and all of Carrie’s caretaking, he couldn’t kill himself. And maybe there was hope. He was just contemplating that earlier, all on his own. But he couldn’t be left to his own devices now; he knew that. The despair would eat him alive.

“Okay, fine.”

“Okay what, Quinn? You’ll go voluntarily?”

Slowly, Quinn nodded.

“Thank you,” Carrie breathed, letting out a huge sigh of pure relief. “I’ll have to make sure they know about all your medical stuff. Your doctors can talk to the ones there. And I promise that it’ll help. I get that our situations are different, okay? There’s no logic to bipolar disorder, and you have some very logical reasons to feel shitty now.”

“Then why do you still think I need to go to a hospital? Are you sure, Carrie? What if I just saw a psychiatrist, and promised you I wouldn’t try anything drastic?” Quinn asked.

“Yes. You’re actively suicidal, so yes. Look, you were doing a lot better just a few weeks ago, and you were in worse shape physically. What you feel now, that hopelessness I see in your eyes? That’s suicidal depression. And from your nightmares and flashbacks, I’d say you have a bad case of PTSD as well, which is not surprising given what you’ve been through.”

“All right, Carrie. I’ll do this for you. But this is it. If this doesn’t work–”  
  
“There’s only one reason it wouldn’t, and that’d be because you weren’t honest with the doctors there. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re not a big talker like me – like you said, you’ve always been quiet – but you have to swear to me that you’ll be as forthcoming as you can.”

Quinn nodded.

“You swear you’ll be honest?”

“I’ll be honest.”

“Thank you.” Carrie paused and got back on the highway. “We have to turn around, since it’s back in Maryland. It’s actually not far from your place, or mine. So I’ll visit you every day, all right? And I’ll make damn well sure they take good care of you.”

“Thanks, Carrie.”

“I can’t lose you, Quinn. I know I don’t deserve you, but I’m doing my best to make up for that now. I just hope it’s not too late. But we’ll talk more when you start feeling better. The last thing you probably feel like doing right now is having a big, emotional conversation.”

“Did you mean what you said, before? About the answer being yes?” Quinn asked weakly, suddenly realizing that there was something inside him that still cared. It was barely there, and his desperation was suppressing it, but it was there nevertheless.

“Yes, Quinn. Yes. The answer is yes. It should have been yes a long time ago. You realized it before I did and I’m sorry that I made you wait for so long. I don’t deserve you, but if you still want to try after you get out of the hospital, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere, not ever again. Not without you. But you’ve got to take care of yourself, first, before anything else.”

Suddenly, Quinn had absolutely no idea how to respond.

_The answer is yes._

“And I don’t know,” Carrie continued. “Maybe that means nothing to you right now. When you’re sunk down deep enough to want to die that badly, nothing means anything to you except finding a way to end the pain. But maybe it’ll give you something to hold on to for a while. I hope it does. And as soon as you’re ready, we’ll talk. Okay?”

Quinn nodded.

“That helps. Thank you, Carrie. You know, right?”  
  
“Know what, Quinn?”

“How I feel about you.”

Carrie nodded.

“And _I_ love _you_. It just took me a really long time to realize it. When I saw you so sick in your hideout, and when I watched you in the hospital, barely able to breathe on your own, that’s when it hit me. I can’t live without you. So you’d best stick around, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ever so slightly, Quinn smiled.

_Carrie loved him._

That didn’t fix everything. It wasn’t even enough to keep out the despair, the wish to die. But it gave him a reason to try and beat it, and for now, that’d have to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

“He needs it.” 

Carrie crossed her arms over her chest and huffed slightly.

“I understand that, but as you can see, we can’t allow a patient to have such a long cord in his room. So we’ll keep it in the Nursing Station. If he needs it, he can tell one of us,” the unit’s Head Nurse responded calmly.

The Head Nurse, a tall, dark-skinned woman with golden eyes and short, curly hair, was never one to raise her voice. Carrie liked that about her. But she was as stubborn as Carrie was, in her own way. Carrie thought back to her own stay in this unit and tried to remember her name; when she couldn’t, she checked the Head Nurse’s ID badge.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, Tee,” Carrie said, keeping her voice level as she could. “This man was locked in a room with high levels of Sarin gas in it. Remember that video that was all over the news a few months ago? That was _him_ in there, in that fucking gas chamber. It damaged his lungs. Sometimes he can’t get all the oxygen he needs, and when that happens he won’t be able to get up and tell anyone about it. He’ll pass out! So for fuck’s sake, let him keep it. Put a shorter cord on it or something.”

“You know what? I’ll give it to him as it is, but keep a nurse watching him at all times,” Tee said. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’d love to just give it to him, but I can’t. It’s for his sake, too. And we were actually considering putting him on one-to-one anyway, at least for his first few days here, so this will work out well.”

“One-to-one? Why? What did he do?” Carrie asked, alarmed.

“You know I can’t tell you that. But I do have a question for you. I only sat in on part of his interview with Tara, but from the bit I heard, she could barely get him to talk at all. Is he always that reticent, or is this a new development?”

“He’s always been a man of few words. But he has gotten even quieter lately, too.” Carrie sighed and ran a hand through her thick, blond hair. She hoped Quinn had stayed true to his word and told them everything. He probably had, if they were concerned enough to consider keeping somebody at his side at all times.

“Carrie, please try and relax. Trust us. We’ll help him just like we helped you, I promise. It might take time, but he’ll be all right,” Tee said.

“You’re right. I do trust you guys. That’s why I brought him here. I’m just not used to being the one worrying, instead of the patient.” Carrie managed a half-smile. “So, I know I’m a little late, but can I still see him? I promised him I’d come every day.”

“You know me. I’d like nothing better than to let you two chat for a while, but rules are rules. I will let you say good night, though. I think that he’s waiting for you, or he was.” Tee paused, and glanced out of the window of the Nursing Station and into the corridor. “I don’t see him there; he must be back in his room again. I’ll get Lupita to watch him for now, and I’ll be along with the oxygen tank in a moment. He’s in Room 815. Sound good?”  
  
Carrie nodded, stepped out of the Nursing Station, and hurried down the hallway. Quinn must have figured she didn’t really care as much as she’d claimed. She wouldn’t blame him; she’d used and manipulated him in the past, which made her untrustworthy.

It was really only that she’d begun to regret how flippantly she’d thrown around certain words, certain phrases. She had a _lot_ for which to atone, and now she hadn’t even managed to make it to the hospital in time to really see and talk to him. Great.

Once she reached his room, she knocked a few times.

When there was no response, she simply opened the door and stood in the threshold. Visitors weren’t allowed to enter patient rooms; that rule she remembered pretty clearly. (Her father had found it utterly absurd, and had spent more time at the hospital fighting with the staff about it than he had talking to her.)

Quinn was lying on the narrow hospital bed. Even without coming closer, she could hear his slightly strained breathing, and see the way he kept tossing and turning. Carrie whirled around, searching for Tee, but found Lupita there instead.

“Lupita, you’ve got to go in there and wake him up. Now.”

“Bad dreams?”

Carrie nodded vehemently.

“Very. Wake him up. _Now._ And you’ve _got_ to let me come in so he can see me when he wakes up, or it could get rough. Please, Lupita. I know it’s against the rules but if he wakes up and has no idea where he is, he’s going to panic.”

“I can’t, Nurse Thomas would not want me to–”

“Fuck that!” Carrie strode in just as Quinn started yelling hoarsely. His eyes circled the room, and his entire body shook. “Quinn. It’s me, Carrie. You’re in the hospital, remember? You’re safe, I promise. You’re safe. Just try and breathe slowly, okay? Slowly.”

Where the fuck was Tee and the oxygen tank? Where was Lupita? Oh, there she was, running back towards the room in her scrubs, holding the small cups into which they always put the medications. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to get him something. But Lupita didn’t enter to give it to him. Why the _fuck_ not? What was wrong with these people?

“Carrie, please! Step back,” Lupita said. “I don’t want you to get hurt. If he doesn’t calm down, we have to call security.”

 _Security?_  
  
What had she missed?

“What happened, Lupita? Just give him the medication. He’s terrified. And if he stays like this, he’ll start hyperventilating and need oxygen. He won’t hurt either of us. You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s not a bad guy.”

_What the fuck had she missed?_

“I saw what happened earlier. It was just like this – maybe worse – and when Derek went in to try to give him Xanax, your friend attacked him! I know he’s not a bad guy, but when he’s scared, he’s dangerous. So now if we see him like this, we’re supposed to call security.”  

Had she made a mistake in bringing Quinn here? Maybe she should have taken him to a place where they had more experience with traumatized veterans. But they’d helped her so much here, and even when she’d shattered a plastic frame in frustration they’d exhausted every avenue before putting her, very temporarily, into the isolation room.

 _Fuck._ The isolation room. They were probably going to try to move Quinn there. He’d be locked into a small space he couldn’t escape, _again._ That was just going to make it worse. No. She wouldn’t permit this. She ran over to Tee, who was watching from behind them, just as the security officers entered the unit.

“Tee, you have to stop this right now. You cannot possibly be thinking about putting him in isolation. And until he can’t breathe at all, he’s going to fight these guys too. And he’ll win. Quinn’s trained, and even though he’s very weak right now, he’s also terrified. If they confront him like this, these guys will get hurt. Badly.”

“Are you sure about that, Carrie?”

At least Tee had the sense to recognize that she might be out of her depth with Quinn.

Carrie nodded. 

“Okay. No security then.”

She hurried over to them; after a quick conversation, they departed and Tee returned to Carrie’s side. Lupita was standing at the threshold, awaiting orders from Tee. Before Tee could give them, Carrie said, “Thanks. And no isolation room either, right? He’s been through a lot, but I think the worst triggers make him relive being put in that gas chamber. He’s having trouble breathing, and if you put him in a small, locked space–”

“Understood. No security, no isolation room. When he’s doing better, the three of us will have a talk about how to handle these situations. It looks like I’m going to involve you more than I thought I would. We’ve never had a patient quite like him before.”

“Do you want me to give him the medication? He’s comfortable around me, even when he’s scared and not sure where he is.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Tee said. “He has to get used to us as well. You can’t be here all the time.”

Lupita handed Tee the cup, and Tee entered, moving slowly but confidently. Her presence was calming, and Quinn seemed to respond positively to it. Carrie let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding when he took the Xanax and put it under his tongue. After another agonizing minute of watching him shake and struggle to breathe, Quinn relaxed slightly and collapsed down onto the bed.

“You know what, Lupita? I’ll take this first shift,” Tee instructed. “But I want you to go introduce yourself to Peter later, so he feels more comfortable around you. He’d never seen Derek before, and I don’t think we should have had him rush in there.”

Quinn started coughing, and Carrie glanced around for the oxygen tank. Tee already had the situation in hand; she’d rushed in, pulled it in with her, and gently placed the mask around Quinn’s mouth and nose, talking to him all the while. As Quinn relaxed further, his gaze became fixed not on Tee, but on Carrie, who waved to him from behind the open door.

Carrie couldn’t wait to give him a hug. Watching him suffer like that while being absolutely unable to lessen his pain was agonizing. And she wanted to apologize for not being there on time, since he’d evidently been waiting patiently for her arrival.

“Rules are important, but it’s also important to know when they need to be broken. I’ll let you into his room. He’s doing all right now, but that took it out of him. He’d best stay in bed for the rest of the night,” Tee said.

“Thank you,” Carrie breathed, and practically ran into Quinn’s small, but tidy, room.

“Hey, you,” Carrie said, pulling him up a little so she could wrap her arms around Quinn and envelop him in a hug. He leaned his head sleepily against her. That was probably the Xanax. There was something sweet about the gesture, and “sweet” wasn’t in his usual repertoire.

“You came. I thought you’d forgotten,” Quinn said softly, collapsing back onto the bed when Carrie let go. His words were slightly slurred. How much Xanax had they _given_ him? Well, she supposed they knew best; plus, maybe this way he could get some real, nightmare-free sleep, which he _desperately_ needed.

“I just got caught up in trying to get all your doctors to send information to this place. And then I went to see Franny at my sister’s house. God, it was nice to be able to see her. She’s adjusted well. And I hope to bring her back to my place for good any day now.”

Carrie ran her hands through Quinn’s hair affectionately. He actually smiled, an even rarer occurrence, and Carrie added, “You’re really drugged up, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Quinn drifted off for a second, and then reopened his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her blush. How could she have been so awful as to _use_ that for so long? It took almost losing him to make her wake up to what she felt, and finally start acting accordingly.

For the first time, she wasn’t sure what to even say to him. Then again, it looked like he was actually falling into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was best to just sneak out. She began stepping back quietly, and then, eyes half-closed, Quinn asked, “Lie next to me?”

Now this was _definitely_ against the rules.

Fuck that, Carrie thought as she curled up in the small space Quinn wasn’t using. He’d always had a thin, albeit muscular, frame. Now he was too thin. She’d realized a few weeks ago that if she didn’t periodically come by his place with tasty dishes from local restaurants, he simply wouldn’t eat. But he was still quite a tall man, so there wasn’t much space left for her on the small hospital bed.

They stayed that way for a while. Even once Carrie realized Quinn had fallen asleep, something inside her wanted to remain there, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. But she was pretty surprised she hadn’t gotten yelled at already and finally decided to stop pushing her luck. She made her way off of the bed, brushed back her hair and adjusted her rumpled clothes.

“Good night, Quinn,” she whispered, and stepped out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

“Peter, wake up. Wake up.”

Caught halfway between the panic of being in the gas chamber and the calm certainty of the voice rousing him, Quinn opened his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. He could breathe, but the fear lingered, and he could see that his hands were shaking far more than they usually did. Damn it. He’d almost made it through the entire night without a nightmare. Almost. He dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping the pain would center and calm him.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that. Do you want me to get you some Xanax?” Tee asked.

“No. That shit made me loopy yesterday. I’ll be fine without it; I just need a moment.”

“We’ll give you a lower dose this time. I promise you won’t feel loopy. It’ll just help with the anxiety. We gave you a high dose yesterday because we wanted you to make it through the night without any bad dreams. And you almost did; it’s already 6:15, and we wake everyone at 6:30 anyway. So, what do you think?”

“Fine. I’ll take it,” Quinn said, slipping slowly out from beneath the covers. 

Strange. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes. Then he remembered Carrie’s visit, and how she’d curled up beside him on the narrow bed. That was almost enough to erase the anxiety, but no matter how hard he concentrated on that wonderful feeling, the fear kept creeping in.

“All right, Peter. Or do you prefer being called Quinn? I noticed Carrie doing that yesterday, and she told me you two have known each other for years.”

“Peter’s fine. Carrie calls me Quinn all the time; I guess she just got used to that. But you can call me Peter, sure,” Quinn said, and then shuddered as a wave of sudden panic pulsed through him. He dug his fingernails even more deeply into his palms.

“You’re in a hospital. You’re safe,” Tee said, soothingly. “And this will help fast,” she added, handing him a small white pill. “It’s like last time. Put it under your tongue; it’ll dissolve. It should kick in fast; focus on my voice while it does, though, okay?”

Quinn did as he was instructed, and the Xanax immediately began to dissolve.

“So I don’t know much about you that’s not medical in nature, Peter. You’re, what, thirty-nine? And no, I’m not a mind reader; your birthday’s on your chart.”

“Yeah, thirty-nine.”

“You know how to fight, and you know Carrie really well. She cares a lot about you, you know. I’ve never seen her as worried as she was last night.”

Quinn wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he simply stayed silent.

“You work where Carrie worked?” 

Quinn paused, and then said slowly, “I did.”

“Working anywhere new now?”

Quinn shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to think about this. What could he possibly do with the rest of his life? The Agency had given him a comfortable severance package. Maybe he could go back there eventually, but as an analyst. But he’d need to get a college education first, for starters. And, besides, he’d been sick of it for a long time now. If there was ever a sign he had to get out for good, he supposed, this was it.

But what then? What then? It all felt overwhelming.

“So, is the anxiety any better?” Tee asked.

Quinn nodded; he felt relaxed, but not loopy like he had last night. But he also felt horribly sad. He started to climb back into bed, hoping he could fall into another dreamless sleep. 

“Peter, if you fall asleep, I’m going to have to come back and wake you up in ten minutes anyway. Wouldn’t you rather explore the unit a little? I skipped the tour before, but I’d be happy to give it to you now. After that, you’ll have breakfast and then it’ll be time for medication. We let you sleep all day yesterday, pretty much, but now that it’s your second day here, we’d like you to at least try to do a little more.”

“More medication?” Quinn asked, confused.

“That was just what we call a PRN – an emergency dose given to someone going through a hard time – but we give out regular medication at different times during the day. I think you do have some in the morning, for you.” Tee glanced down at her clipboard, and then nodded. “We’re starting you on Klonopin and Lexapro this morning.” 

“What are those?”

“Klonopin is like Xanax, but it has a longer half-life. That means that while the Xanax kicks in fast, its effect also fades out fast. It’s great once you’re having a flashback, but it’s not so great at preventing them. Hopefully, the Klonopin will stop the anxiety entirely. You’ll be taking it twice a day: in the morning, and at night. Lexapro is an SSRI antidepressant. It’ll take a while to start working, though; sadly, all antidepressants do,” Tee explained.

“Oh.” 

“Come on, Peter. Let me take you on a tour. The medications are a huge part of what we do here, but you also have to make an effort to stay out of bed, and participate in the therapeutic activities we offer. I know it’s hard right now. I just want you to try.”

Finally, Quinn got to his feet and slipped on a pair of socks from the stack of clothes on his bedside table. His movements were slow. He felt as though something were physically weighing him down, pushing him into the ground.

“All right! After the tour, by the way, someone new will be taking over for me. You’ll have to decide whether you want to tell the staff and doctors – not to mention your fellow patients, during group therapy – about where you worked. We can easily say you were just a soldier, though. I have a feeling that if you tell the truth, you’ll end up having people ask you a million questions about it. I’d personally just tell the staff. But it’s up to you.”

“The staff and doctors can know the truth. We’ll tell everybody else that I was a soldier in the latest wars,” Quinn said, quietly. Even his speech was slowed down. He felt more crushed than ever. How was he ever going to make up for all the blood he’d spilled when he was so fucking useless? How? Fucking hell. He should have never opened up to Carrie. His plan had been perfect. He’d never have such a good chance at it again.

“Okay. I’ll spread that to the rest of the staff during our morning meeting.” Tee glanced at Quinn, then sighed. “I know it’s hard now. But that’s why you’re here. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

Was it that obvious, how fucking miserable he was? 

Quinn nodded, and then forced himself to follow Tee around to the various rooms in which she said they’d be spending their time. Thankfully, all the other patients were either still asleep, or simply waved and said hello before returning to whatever they were doing to pass the time. Once the tour was over, Tee said that she’d be going home after their morning meeting, leaving Alejandro to watch him in her stead. A tall, slim man with brown skin and black hair pulled back into a long ponytail waved to him from the Nursing Station. 

“So, when’s this morning meeting?”

Tee checked her watch.

“Actually, I’d better get it started right about now. Go give this clipboard to Alejandro, and he’ll take over for me. I hope your day improves, I really do,” she said, handing Quinn a clipboard.

“Thanks.”

Quinn walked slowly over to Alejandro, who greeted him with a cheerful smile and said, “Good morning! When they’re done with the morning meeting, it’ll be breakfast time. You hungry?”

Quinn shrugged.

“Patients usually seem to think that the food is usually good here. You’ll have to tell me if you agree.”

“Can I go back to my room in the meantime?” He didn’t want to talk, or get any more information about the fucking hospital. He wanted silence. He could feel a headache coming on. 

“Only if you skip Goals Group. I was going to run it. But I can get someone else to do it, if you’re not up for it.”

Quinn stumbled slightly, and then recovered his balance. He leaned back against the wall as the headache started, wincing. 

“Peter? What’s happening?” Alejandro asked, concernedly.

“Headache.” He shut his eyes. Everything was spinning, the pain was intolerable, and he felt nauseated though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even eaten. 

“Okay, let’s get you back in bed. You have medication for this? Did Carrie bring it with her, or tell us what to order?”

“Oxycodone,” Quinn managed, stumbling again. Alejandro caught him easily. He was surprisingly strong, and was quite able to practically carry Quinn back to bed, where he curled up in a ball. 

“That’s controlled, so I’ll have to get a doctor to approve it. I’ll be back as soon as I can with the medication, though. You just hang in there, all right?”

After what felt like forever, Alejandro returned with two pills and a paper glass filled with water. He didn’t need the water to swallow the pills, but he was thirsty. So after taking the pills, he reached for the water. Unfortunately, his hands were shaking so badly – pain made the shaking worse – that he couldn’t manage to do anything but spill it all over himself. Fucking nerve agents. Fucking Qasim. He was never meant to survive that attack. 

He was never meant to live.

“Hey, man, if you’re thirsty, sit up a bit and I’ll help. Actually, I’ll just get you a bottle of water and put a straw in it. I’ll be right back, one more time, okay?”

“Yeah.”

He was quick. Only seconds later, Alejandro was back with a large bottle of water and a straw. He held the bottle, and put the straw up to Quinn’s lips so he could drink. He only had a little, for fear of making himself sick. Once the drugs kicked in, he’d have more.

Quinn groaned. He wished Carrie were here. She was always so good at taking care of him. Then again, she shouldn’t have to waste her time on it, on him. He wasn’t getting well, not even close; most likely, he never would. He was just holding her back from living her life with someone whole. 

Only, apparently, she loved him now. Why now? Why hadn’t she figured it out earlier? He’d loved her for so long, had sacrificed so much for her, and only now – only now that he was useless, a burden, and unpleasant to be around – did she say yes. It didn’t make sense.

Quinn stayed still for a while until the pills kicked in, and he slowly sat up again. The headaches never went away completely; that took a few hours. But the Oxycodone made them bearable. He reached for the water and managed to hold it still enough that he could drink it through the straw. When he was done, he placed it on the empty bedside table. 

“Better?” Alejandro asked, brightening.

“A little, yeah.”

“Good. That was rough to even watch. They saved you some breakfast, if you’re up to eating anything. If not, later. And lunch is at noon, anyway. I would recommend that you eat a little now, though, as not to take your medications on an empty stomach. So, do you want me to bring you the tray?” 

“Okay.”

“Will do, then!”

Quinn sighed. He was having trouble keeping track of time, for some reason. They’d come in at night, and waited for a while in Admissions. By the time he got up to the unit it had almost been morning, and except for a few bad nightmares nothing much had happened at all; he’d just slept. Now it was, what? Saturday? He’d check with Alejandro.

“I got you some toast with butter, and some apple juice. There was other stuff on the tray initially, like eggs with ham, but I figured you’d prefer something simple, easy to digest.”

Quinn nodded. 

“Thanks,” he added, belatedly. He took a tentative bite out of the toast, chewed and swallowed. Then he waited. “Today is Saturday, right? When are people allowed to visit?”

“It is indeed Saturday, and visitors are welcome almost all day. Visiting hours start at nine, and end at nine. It’s around seven now. Oh, and I brought your Klonopin and Lexapro over, too. Once you’re done eating, you can take them.”

“What are the side effects?” Quinn asked, taking another bite out of the toast.

“People mostly complain that Klonopin makes them tired, sleepy.”

That was fine by him. He’d sleep all day if not for the nightmares. If this made them go away and made him tired, it’d be perfect. 

“What about the other one?” Quinn asked.

“Lexapro can do that too, and cause nausea and stomach upset. Then again, some people say that Lexapro makes it hard for them to fall asleep, which is why we give it out in the morning. For all these drugs, though, the side effects are worse at first, and then tend to go away as your body adjusts. Also, not everybody gets every side effect.”

Quinn nodded.

“If you want the complete list of side effects, I can print you out a page of information on each of the drugs you’ll be taking.”

“No thanks. I have to take it anyway, so I might as well just find out as I go.”

Once he finished his toast and took his new medications, Quinn lay down again. The memory of Carrie’s body being pressed up against his resurfaced as he lingered between sleep and wakefulness. Her warmth, the feel of her long, blond hair. He turned to Alejandro and drowsily mumbled, “If I fall asleep and Carrie gets here, will you wake me up?”

“Sure, man. I can do that. And I remember Carrie, of course.”

“She’s pretty hard to forget,” Quinn said, and then fell into a deep, gloriously dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Carrie checked her watch. She wasn’t about to be late this time. As soon as it hit nine o’clock, she was going in to see him. She wondered if he’d be doing better. She’d found that sometimes just going into the hospital, provided it was a good one, helped. But, realistically, it’d take time. Antidepressants always took _forever_ to do any good.

It wasn’t quite nine yet, but she got tired of waiting and strode over towards the first of the two doors that enclosed the unit. The campus was gorgeous; sadly, Quinn wouldn’t get to see any of it until he went home. Patients in acute care were only permitted to descend into a small – but lovely, if she remembered correctly – patio.

Carrie rang the bell, and opened the door once a buzzer went off. She quickly signed her name down as a visitor and hurried over to Quinn’s room. Alejandro – his name, she did remember, for some reason – was sitting outside the open door in a large, comfortable-looking chair. Alejandro had always been kind to her, and had a way of being constantly chipper without getting irritating.

“Good morning, Carrie,” he said.

She greeted him and then asked, “How’s he been?”

“From the notes Nurse Thomas left, it looks like he had some Xanax after waking up initially. He must have had a nightmare. He seemed pretty worn out when I took over, and then he got a headache. It took a while, but the doctor let us give him Oxycodone. Then he ate a little, got his medication, and fell asleep again. I decided to let him sleep; those headaches he gets are no joke. But he did tell me to wake him up when you got here.”

“Yeah, the headaches are brutal. I’ve read the literature on the aftereffects of Sarin exposure, and that seems to be a pretty common reaction, unfortunately.” Carrie sighed. “Would you mind letting me wake him?”

“All right, but don’t take too long. You know the rules. You can’t be in his room. You two can chat sitting on the sofa behind me. How’s that?”

“That will do.”

Carrie walked over to his side, started stroking his hair, and gently said, “Hey, Quinn.”

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, his usual sharp, penetrating gaze dulled a bit by the drugs he’d been given.

“Carrie?”

She smiled at him; he was looking at her like he couldn’t quite trust her to be real.

“I can’t stay in your room with you, so you’re going to have to come out to the sofa with me, okay? How do you feel?”

Quinn rubbed his eyes again.

“Tired. Dizzy. Must be the new drugs they gave me.”

“What’d they put you on?”

“Klonopin and Lexapro.”

“And you had Xanax and Oxycodone. I’m not surprised you feel that way. You need help getting up?”

“I’ll manage,” Quinn responded, slowly sitting up and then, using the bed to keep himself upright, getting to his feet for a second before abruptly sitting down again. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

“You’ll manage, huh?” Carrie teased, gently. “C’mon, let me help. Well, either do that, or convince Alejandro to let me sit in here so you can stay in bed.”

“Carrie, I’ll help him. Go sit on the sofa, please,” Alejandro interjected, getting up from his chair and hurrying over to Quinn’s side.

Carrie did as she was told for Alejandro’s sake. He was a good guy, and she didn’t want him to get into trouble for allowing her to break the rules. Plus, Quinn seemed more comfortable getting assistance from him right now. Finally, Alejandro brought him over to sit beside her, and he shut his eyes again immediately.

“Hey, if you’re not up for a visit right now, it’s okay.”

“Just give me a second,” Quinn said, leaning against her. “Okay. I think I’ll be all right. Walking made the dizziness worse, but as long as I’m sitting down, I should be fine.”

“You sure?”

Quinn nodded.

“Okay, then.”

Carrie reached up and ran a hand through Quinn’s unruly hair. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her suspiciously, as if she had to have a hidden motive if she were expressing any sort of affection for him. She sighed, and stopped. She couldn’t blame him, really. She’d been using his devotion to her to manipulate him for years, she thought guiltily. No wonder he was trying to figure out what she was trying to get out of him this time around.

After taking a deep breath, Carrie decided to go ahead and broach what could potentially be a tough topic.

“So,” she began, “Dar Adal called me this morning, asking about you. He said that he’d called you repeatedly, but that you’d never picked up. He was scared, genuinely scared.” Carrie sighed. “You never told me that he was calling you. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“No point. I’m useless to him now. I finally got my wish, I guess. I’m out of the group for good,” Quinn responded flatly.

“Quinn, I don’t think you understand. I think that Dar Adal cares about _you_ , not just as an operative, but as a _person_. He’s not very good at expressing his feelings, granted. But, hey, he even went as far as to call me when he wasn’t able to get ahold of you directly. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Quinn shrugged.

After a pause, he asked, “What did you tell him?”

“Not much, at first. But he kept pressing me for information. Finally, I just told him where you were. He wants to come visit you here. Is that okay?”

“Dar Adal wants to come visit me _here_?” Quinn echoed, incredulous.

“I told you. He cares about you. He told me to tell you that he’d bring donuts,” Carrie said. “So what do you want me to tell him? If you don’t want him here, you can add him to a list of people specifically not allowed to visit. It’s entirely up to you.”

“It’s okay. If he really wants to, he can visit.”

“For what it’s worth, he sounded very worried. And he was relieved when he found out you were doing what you needed to do to stay safe. A bit puzzled, maybe, but relieved. Quinn, when you were in the hospital, he spent nights sleeping in your room. I know you two have a complicated history, but, like I said, he does care for you.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Quinn responded, still seemingly unwilling to accept that Dar might genuinely care about what happened to him. This is what happens when you make somebody think that they’re just your weapon, Carrie thought sadly.

“Fair enough,” Carrie acquiesced. “I can’t make you believe me. Even he’ll have a tough time doing it, but I hope he succeeds. It always helps to know that you have people rooting for you when you’re down. And you do, Quinn. You’ve got me and Dar, and Saul, too. He’s asked me for updates on your condition as well, but not since you’ve been here. If he asks again, are you okay with me telling him too? I’m sorry I told Dar Adal without asking you first, but damn, the man was just relentless.”

“You can tell Saul. And I don’t blame you, about Dar. He doesn’t know when to just give up. He’s like you that way.”

“You think we should give up on you?”

Quinn shrugged.

“I’m not really any use to anybody now.”

“You don’t have to be _of use_ to us for us to care about you! God, Quinn! I know that your background and current state probably make it really fucking hard for you to believe that we can care for you, can _love_ you, with no strings attached, but – we do. I love you. You don’t have to be ‘useful’ for me to love you. Do you believe me when I say that?”

“My background?”

Of course he’d focus on that. Including that had been a mistake, Carrie realized in retrospect. But she’d have to tell him at _some_ point, right?

“Dar gave me your letter. When things were looking really bad, when you were really sick, he gave me your letter. And then he told me how and when he recruited you. So I know, Quinn. And you can tell me as much or as little about it as you want, I don’t care. None of that makes a damn bit of difference to me. I love you. When I saw that video, when I thought you were dead for sure, I–”

“It’s okay. I believe you, Carrie. There’s a part of me that keeps insisting that you’re only saying that out of pity, or to keep me from killing myself, but, mostly, I believe you.”

“Good.” Carrie smiled, and reached towards Quinn, hoping to pull him closer. To her delight, he responded by reaching his arm around her shoulders and holding her tight. Her smile broadened. “I liked lying next to you the other night. That felt good,” she said. “This is nice too.”

“Yeah. It is,” Quinn said, and for a second Carrie swore he was about to smile.

Carrie chastened herself for feeling impatient, for wanting more from him than he could currently give. _He_ was the one who had waited. For _years_. She could handle a couple of months of proceeding slowly, carefully. Getting close, truly close, to Quinn wasn’t going to be easy. And he had to recover from his depression before they could really begin a romance. For now, she’d be there for him. She’d help however she could. She’d show him that he wasn’t about to be abandoned by _anybody_ just because he wasn’t “useful” to them.

She’d be damned if she’d let the distrustful part of him win.

But, for now, she relished the feeling of being held by Quinn. He had a way of making her feel safe that nobody else – including Brody – ever had. She just wished she could do the same for him.

Maybe someday, she told herself.

Maybe someday.

Their story, she thought, once more quelling her impatient side, was only just beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn watched as Carrie headed for the door. He wanted to accompany her, but after standing up unsupported had proved problematic, he’d contented himself with watching, and, once she turned to wave, waving back. 

So Dar Adal was coming, and possibly Saul.

And Carrie loved him. When he started thinking on the past, he forced himself to refocus on the future. But he soon realized doing so was equally painful. He couldn’t let Carrie devote herself to helping him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, to her. Maybe these medications would eventually do more than make him too dizzy to stand, maybe his lungs would recover so that he could – so that he could do what, though? He couldn’t use any of his old skills, and the prospect of doing something like going to college to get new ones was overwhelming.

Why the _fuck_ hadn’t he just relieved her of the burden of having to take care of him? Why had he listened? His life was effectively over. He should have just killed himself. Well, maybe he still could, even here. Nobody had ever accused him of lacking the necessary resourcefulness. He’d found a lot of unorthodox ways of killing _other_ people over the years, after all. He knew the body’s weak points; surely he could figure _something_ out.

“Peter?”

Alejandro’s voice was more serious than he’d heard it thus far.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine,” Quinn managed.

Alejandro looked at him skeptically. Was he that obvious, in his anger at himself? One thing was certain: he wouldn’t be able to kill himself with somebody watching his every move. And he’d need to look – happier? Better, somehow? He didn’t know what had tipped Alejandro off. Fuck. He could practically feel the razor blade against his throat, the gun against his forehead. The images were incredibly vivid. No, he told himself. Refocus. Convince Alejandro you’re okay. That was step one.

“You know we’re here to help, right?” Alejandro looked genuinely concerned. “It’s hard when visitors leave. It’s hard to have to be here. If you need _anything_ , though, I’m here to help. And you can talk to me, really.”

That’s all he thought it was? Well, that was a relief. He’d thought Alejandro had somehow figured out his frame of mind, which would be disconcerting. He had to keep that from showing. Maybe if he did what they wanted, went to the therapy groups, they’d stop the supervision. How bad could they be? He’d survived two years in Syria; he could survive listening to a bunch of sad people complaining about their problems, or whatever it was people did in these groups.

“Thanks, but I don’t really have anything–”

Hissing. Suddenly he was back in the gas chamber, Sarin hissing out of the tank. He started coughing, hard. _Not like this._ His eyes were watering, drool coming from his mouth. It hurt to breathe. He could feel his muscles starting to spasm. _Not like this, not like this, not like this._ Now he couldn’t breathe at all, and everything was spinning. It’d be over–

“Peter! Peter, come on, deep breath!”

It took him a minute to realize he was not, in fact, back in the gas chamber. No. He was – he was on the floor? With a ton of staff surrounding him? He could hear the hissing still. What the fuck _was_ that noise? He wanted to ask about it, but couldn’t. He had an oxygen mask placed over his nose and mouth. He tried to pull it off, but someone pushed it back in place. He was coming back to reality slowly, one element of it at a time. For instance: he was shaking, but it wasn’t the Sarin and his hands weren’t bound. 

“Take slow, deep breaths, okay?”

Tee was speaking. He did his best to do as he was told, though it hurt like hell. What – had he passed out? Probably, or he wouldn’t be surrounded by worried people. He pulled at the oxygen mask again; once again it was put back in place.

“I can’t let you take that off quite yet. You gave us quite a scare. We can’t figure out what set it off, either. Keep taking deep breaths, and we’ll let you take it off soon. But let’s get you off the floor now, okay?”

He nodded, and then Alejandro approached and helped him sit up. He shut his eyes as the dizziness came back. The people surrounding him started talking to each other until, finally, Alejandro raised his voice above the rest and addressed him.

“Nod if you’re okay,” he said.

He did, and Alejandro very slowly proceeded to help him up to his feet and then practically carry him over to his bed. As soon as he was lying down again, he reopened his eyes. God, this was – he’d never felt so helpless in his life. It was fucking humiliating. At least Carrie had missed this sorry spectacle. She would have really worried. Then again, she might have gotten him the oxygen sooner, so he probably wouldn’t have passed out.

Probably.

God, he couldn’t take another _second_ of this bullshit.

Quinn ripped off the oxygen mask and, before they could put it back, growled, “Go. _Leave – me –  alone!_ ”

Thankfully, most of them dispersed. Alejandro stayed by his side, though, and Tee hung around behind him.

“Sorry, buddy,” Alejandro said. “I can’t leave. And the oxygen mask needs to stay on for a little longer, okay?”

Quinn let Alejandro put it back in place.

After all, he wasn’t mad at Alejandro. This wasn’t his fault. It was himself he was mad at, right now – himself, and the situation. He was so helpless and so weak and he was never going to get better and he just wanted this to stop. He wanted it all to stop so badly. This wasn’t life. This wasn’t living. This was worse than Syria, worse than anything.

Quinn felt his chest tighten again, but his breathing was okay. What was this? Oh fucking _hell_. He was fucking _crying._ He hadn’t, not since he was very, very small. Not like this, anyway. And now his breathing was no longer okay, because he was crying like a small child. God, at least Carrie wasn’t here to see _this_.

“Hey, buddy, it’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay. Try to – yeah, good.”

He was finally fucking controlling himself and taking deep breaths again. The world came back into focus. Fucking hell. Not since he was five years old.

“I usually tell people crying can be good, but we don’t want you passing out on us again. A few more deep breaths, and we’ll try seeing how you do without the oxygen mask. We need to figure out what triggered that. Do you know?”

Quinn nodded.

“Well, hey, that’s good. All right. You can take it off now. And you better not apologize for crying, because there is _nothing_ wrong with what just happened.”

Quinn simply took the mask on and shut his eyes. What could he possibly say? That he hadn’t done that in thirty-four years? Then he remembered. The hissing. He opened his eyes again.

“What’s – what’s that hissing noise? I think that’s what started it. It was like the hissing of the Sarin coming out of the tank, when I was in the gas chamber.”

“It’s the air conditioning. We can’t turn it off from here. You think it’ll be a problem again?”

“I…” Quinn paused, gave the question thought. “I don’t think so, now that I know what it is. And it was the _start_ of the sound that did it. Now that it’s just in the background it should be better.”

“Good, good. Well, at least there’s that. And, listen: I’m sorry we didn’t give you the oxygen fast enough. We should have acted quickly enough to prevent you from passing out like that. We didn’t realize how bad it was. Our mistake. Won’t happen again, at least not on my watch.”

Quinn said nothing. He was still overwhelmed, and the tightness in his chest meant that if he wasn’t careful he’d start sobbing again. He’d been shot multiple times. Cut by knives. In horrible, impossible situations. But it was _this_ – this complete _helplessness_ – that made him actually feel desperate enough to want to cry again.

Carrie.

He focused on an image of her. She’d stroked his hair today. That had been good, right? Nice, right? But no, even that made him think about how he couldn’t continue on this path. Carrie would sacrifice everything to help him and that wasn’t right.

He had to finish the job they’d started.

_The answer is yes._

It wasn’t right. It was too late, now. He’d have to find a way.

And now he knew.

As soon as they stopped watching him 24/7, he’d just break the plastic covering the painting on his wall. The pieces would be sharp, or, if he applied the necessary force, sharp enough. He’d certainly killed others with blunter objects. Doing it to himself would be trickier, but it’d definitely be possible.

Quinn felt the tightness in his chest fade.

He wasn’t stuck here. He had options. But first, he’d have to get some time alone, and some of his strength back. It wouldn’t work if he could barely stay on his feet. But in a few days, hopefully, that side effect would fade, and he’d be free to do it. Broken glass would be better – not to mention a knife – but he could make do with this.

He wasn’t helpless.

The relief flooded through him, powerful as any drug, and he slipped into a light sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

“He _what_?” Carrie asked, left stunned by what she’d just heard.

“We should have seen it coming. His reaction to being told the one-to-one was permanent was extreme. That should have been a huge red flag, but we just figured he was a private guy who didn’t like being watched all the time. But he must have been planning this for a while to get as worked up about it as he did,” Tee explained.

“God, Quinn,” Carrie muttered. “Anyway, what happened? I want every detail; don’t leave anything out, please.”

“Well, the minute Alejandro stepped out to get his tray today, he smashed the plastic covering the painting in his room and was about to stab himself in the neck with a shard when Alejandro got to him. He wanted it desperately too. He’s hardly been eating, has had problems breathing, but Alejandro had a hell of a time getting that shard away from him.”

“He’s strong.”

“No, he was desperate. He’s pretty weak, actually. After that incident, we had to put him in the Quiet Room – with the door open, of course – and then once there he started banging his head against the wall. It’s padded, so we decided to let him instead of putting him in restraints. Finally, he ended up just lying on the ground, sobbing. We tried to get him to calm down a little, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He’s still in a pretty bad state, honestly. I don’t know how to reach him. If you think that you could, we’d let you come early.”

“I’ll try. Maybe he’ll talk to me, maybe not. He doesn’t open up to people easily. I mean, I had no _idea_ things were this bad. I knew he could still be suicidal, but to try that hard in a hospital? Obviously, he regrets telling me and coming in if he wants it to end this badly.”

“We’re all just grateful he’s not at full strength. Things are bad enough with him like this.” A pause. “He’s back to sobbing. I might have to go because it’s making it even harder than usual for him to breathe. Please come, Carrie. It’s bad enough that we’re thinking he needs something faster, like ECT, because I don’t know if he can stay like this until the antidepressants start working. I think he’d do himself a world of good if he talked about what he’s _actually_ thinking, but he won’t. We’re hoping he might, with you.”

“I can’t imagine Quinn sobbing. He’s very private, very reserved, usually.”

“Carrie, he’s been like this for hours now. This man wants to die very, very badly. I think he was hanging on to the thought of ending it and now we took his chance away, so he’s reacting to that disappointment. When can you get here?”

“I’ll leave now. I’m scared he won’t open up to me, either, though. ECT is the best route if he’s this suicidal. You feel like shit physically right after, but it works fast.”

“Tell him that. I’m not certain that’s what his doctor will decide but after today it’s very likely. I’m sure the prospect will scare him a little – always does, with the reputation ECT has – so hearing from someone who has had it will be good.”

“Of course, Tee.” Carrie sighed. “I’m scared that I won’t do any good, but I’ll leave right away. There is a small chance he’ll talk to me. Of course, there’s also the possibility he won’t like me seeing him like this, and get worse.”

“Carrie, it can’t get worse. He has been absolutely unreachable, inconsolable.” Tee paused. “Has he ever cried before, since you’ve known him?”

“Absolutely not. At least, not while I’ve been around, and I can’t see him doing it in front of anyone else. He didn’t cry when he was stuck in a gas chamber, Tee. He just stood there. I’m sure you’ve seen some version of that horrid video. I can’t imagine him sobbing. I’ll have to see it before I fully believe it, although I hope he calms down while I’m driving over.”

“You’re right. He didn’t even flinch in that video. I don’t think death scares him at all.”

“He’s always had a self-destructive side. But until now he’s also always been a survivor. From the little I know, he had a rough childhood. The work he’s done for the Company has been all he’s known for most of his life. He’s talked about wanting to quit and not believing in the work for almost as long as I’ve known him, but I really don’t think he knows another way to live,” Carrie said as she threw a few items into a bag and got ready to go.

“He’s breaking our hearts, Carrie. I’ve seen a lot, working here, but this level of desperation is rare even in suicidal patients.” Tee paused. “Now he’s – he’s saying something over and over. I better see if I can get him to talk to us. You drive safe, okay?”

“Thanks. I’ll be there soon. I should get off the phone now, though,” Carrie said before hanging up, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. God. She hadn’t expected this. She was good at reading people and she hadn’t even – fuck, she would have said it was nonsense, that Quinn would never act that way, had someone told her a few weeks ago. She could barely believe it, even now.

The drive was agonizing. Knowing that Quinn was in a terrible state and she could do nothing about it was awful. But she knew that she had to be prepared for the prospect of getting there and finding herself in the same position. If it was as bad as Tee said, they’d probably start him on ECT tomorrow. Hopefully his body would be able to take it. He wouldn’t be stuck in some hellish state for weeks, waiting for the antidepressants to work. They wouldn’t permit it. _She_ wouldn’t permit it.

_He’s breaking our hearts, Carrie._

“Hold on, Quinn,” Carrie whispered to herself, speeding up as the traffic cleared.

She forced herself to focus fully on the sheer act of driving there as much as she could. Once she arrived, she leapt out of the car and sprinted towards the entrance. But she paused before ringing the buzzer, steeling herself for the worst. She’d do Quinn no good if _she_ got emotional. She had to be strong. No matter what. For him.

She was buzzed in, with Tee greeting her gratefully once she entered.

“How is he?”

“We gave him a shot of Ativan. He was getting really agitated, yelling at us to just let him die already and throwing himself at the walls. It helped. At least, he stopped that. Now he’s just curled up. I think he’s still crying, although not as loudly as before. So I guess some progress has been made. And the doctor came up, got the full report. He starts ECT tomorrow. We’re a little concerned about how he’ll feel afterwards, given how bad his headaches get, but we can medicate those.”

Tee sighed.

“God, I am so glad they’re going to start the ECT tomorrow. Can I – you still think it’d help if I went over to him?” Carrie asked.

“I hope so, Carrie. But he might – honestly, I just can’t predict his reactions. If you could get him talking, though, it’d help immensely. Or even if he doesn’t answer, just – just talk to him, you know? I think that would help too. It might get through to him, at least in part. We’ve tried everything we could think of, but he’s got us stumped.”

Tee led her to the Quiet Room. Quinn was curled up in a corner, completely still and silent.

“He stopped sobbing. He hasn’t moved or made a sound since, not counting a pretty bad coughing fit,” Alejandro reported

He looked weary, stressed. Tee had looked that way too, Carrie realized. They were good people. They were really trying. Carrie drew in a shaky breath. She would not lose her composure. She would stay calm.

“Quinn.”

No response.

“It’s me, Carrie. I’ve come to see you. Will you look at me?”

No response.

“I know you want this to be over. But you haven’t always felt that way, and soon you won’t feel that way. They’re going to give you ECT. You can’t stay like this.”

Still no response.

“You’ll stop feeling this way with the ECT. It’s not like with antidepressants. You don’t have to wait for weeks and be miserable in the meantime. A few treatments, and you’ll notice a difference. You will not stay like this, I _promise_. But it’d help if you talked to someone.”

“Can I go in there? Maybe if I touch him he’ll react? He’s obviously exhausted. He can’t hurt me. And he wouldn’t, even now, I don’t think,” Carrie told Tee.

Tee nodded, adding, “Go ahead.”

Carrie stepped in slowly and then squatted down beside Quinn. She reached out slowly. When he didn’t react, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He moved slightly. And then he started crying. No. Crying was the wrong word for what this was. She could see why Tee had used the word “inconsolable.” He was _sobbing._

“Hey, hey, Quinn. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, I promise. You won’t always feel this way,” Carrie said. She monitored her breathing carefully. She’d do him no good if she started crying too.

“You have – you have a lot to live for, you know. People who care a lot about you. And you’re a smart, capable guy. You’ll find something new. Something you won’t want to quit every other year. You can move on from this. Be happy. I know that sounds like a pipe dream, I know it. But it’s not. You just have to get through this.”

“I just–”

Well, at least he was reaching out. But he couldn’t seem to stop sobbing long enough to get the whole sentence out. _I just want to die._ That was probably what he was trying to say.

“I know, Quinn. I know.” She had to get him off of this. “Hey, Quinn, you had anything to drink lately? Want some juice? Some water?”

Carrie was about to give up when he coughed, hard, and then whispered, “Water?”

“Yeah, want some?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get a cup with a straw,” Tee said, immediately, looking hopeful.

“Quinn, Tee’s getting it for you. But you’ll have to sit to drink it. Can you sit?”

Another nod.

It took some help, but soon he was sitting. His hair was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot. And his expression – _fuck_ , if that wasn’t desperation she didn’t know what was. And he’d started sobbing again. He’d probably held so much in for so long, and now it was overwhelming him completely. Carrie rubbed circles into his back, which seemed to help a little. Then, finally, he managed a complete sentence.

“I cried the other day, too.”

Carrie sensed he wanted to say more, so she waited. He drew in a shaky breath. C’mon, Quinn, she thought. Talk to me.

“I haven’t cried like that since I was five.”

Yes! _Yes!_ He was opening up to her.

“What made you cry then?”

Long, long pause. Had she asked the wrong question?

“I was a foster kid,” he finally said, very slowly.

“This is hard. I can see how hard you’re trying. You’re doing good, Quinn. You are. Keep talking. If not about this, something else. Just talk to me, okay?”

“This.”

“Okay, this.”

“At the foster home, they said I was too loud, too disrespectful. They would hit me. So I became very quiet. I didn’t show emotion. And when they hurt me, they would stop sooner if I didn’t react. So I learned not to react.” 

That explains a lot, Carrie thought.

“At five, I went to live with a new couple. They were good people.” Quinn tried to take a deep breath, ended up coughing. Carrie rubbed his back. The sobbing had to have taken a toll. He needed food, water, a real bed to lie in. “But I was scared. So I was–”

More coughing.

Carrie looked for Tee, worried. She was already approaching with the oxygen tank. But then Quinn seemed to recover a bit.

“You were quiet, weren’t you? With the new couple?” Carrie ventured.

Quinn nodded.

“Then I overheard them talking. The woman really liked me, even wanted to adopt me. But then the man said no. Too quiet, he said. He doesn’t react to anything. There must be something wrong with him. He convinced her of it, and they decided to send me back.”

“I – I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“So, yeah, that night, I cried. But it was for the last time, until the other day. And today.”

Carrie suddenly had so many questions. Was he ever adopted? Or was Dar Adal the closest thing he’d ever had to a parent? Dar Adal. God, no wonder she couldn’t convince Quinn that she loved him unconditionally, or that anybody else did, for that matter. But she couldn’t ask for any answers now. The fact that he was talking was huge. She just had to keep him talking, get him to have some water, some food. And sleep. He’d start ECT tomorrow.

“Hey, Quinn. Can I hug you? I feel like you could use it.”

She would have just done it, but she didn’t want to be too much, too soon.

Long pause, then a nod. Immediately, Carrie wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He was _shaking_. Not so much that she’d noticed it before, but she could _feel_ it when she held him. She wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed by emotion or just exhausted. Either way, he needed to be in a warm bed, now.

But then Tee arrived, with the water. Carrie slowly let go, keeping one hand on his back. She took the water with the other. If he was shaking, he wasn’t going to be able to hold the cup still enough, so Carrie didn’t hand it over. Quinn didn’t seem to care. He simply grabbed at the straw and started drinking immediately.

“Hey, Tee, are you going to keep him here in the Quiet Room overnight?”

Tee nodded wearily.

“You should bring some of those warm blankets, if there are any right now.”

“As a matter of fact, I think there are.”

“I think he’s exhausted. He just needs to realize it. He’s shaking. If I can get him to lie down on the mat, and you put the warm blankets over him, he might just fall asleep right away.”

“Carrie, you’ve worked miracles. Thank you. I’m going to get his medications and some blankets. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s all him.” Carrie turned to Quinn. “Hear that? It’s all you. I know everything is hard right now. But that will change soon. I’m warning you, though, that you’ll feel awful physically after the treatments. The first few hours after are the worst.”

Quinn nodded.

“I can handle it.”

“I know, Quinn. I never meant to imply otherwise.” Carrie sighed, and then added, “Hey, are you hungry?”

Quinn shook his head.

“I didn’t think you’d be. But you’ll feel better tomorrow if you take your meds with food.”

“I’ll deal.”

“All right, then. So, will you try something for me? I want you to lie down on the blue mat, whenever you feel ready. Tee’s bringing your meds and some warm blankets. It’s early, but maybe you’ll to go to sleep. You must be exhausted after everything you’ve been through.”

Nothing.

“Will you at least try it?”

Finally, a nod.

“Good, good. Thank you for sharing that story about when you were five. I am sorry you went through that, Quinn. And you don’t get to shrug that off. I mean it. I can see how you find it hard to believe that Dar loves you as a person, or that I love you. But I do, Quinn. I love you very much. I don’t know how you feel about that right now. It doesn’t matter; I love you, no matter what. And I’ll wait for you to feel better, okay? Right now, let’s focus on that. You’ll sleep and then have your first treatment.”

“Okay.”

Carrie got up and dragged the blue mat over so that it was right next to Quinn. He slid on to it. Tee arrived with the medication and more water and, after asking Alejandro to get the warm blankets, gave them to Quinn. Carrie found herself hoping he’d have a good night’s sleep. No nightmares. In his fragile emotional state, she didn’t know what they’d do to him.

“Hey, why don’t you lie down on the blue mattress now?”

Quinn did, and shut his eyes. Carrie ran a hand through Quinn’s hair. It seemed to relax him, so she did it a few more times. She could still remember the sound of him sobbing. That would be with her for a while. Soon, the warm blankets were brought in and draped over Quinn, and he looked up at her, gratefully.

“I told you it’d feel good.”

Quinn yawned. He _had_ to be beyond exhausted at this point. And, sure enough, he soon slipped into what Carrie prayed was a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

“Quinn! You awake?”

Somehow, no matter what, Carrie’s voice always had a way of cutting through the fog. He hadn’t said a complete sentence since his first treatment. He simply hadn’t had the energy for it. Finally, they’d given up on getting him to talk at any length and just went through a list of possible aftereffects with him. He’d nodded, or shaken his head slowly; they’d done what they could to help.

Afterwards, he’d proceeded to collapse into bed, where he’d remained until Carrie called out his name, dragging him to wakefulness. He felt as though he was struggling to come up for air after a long stint deep underwater.

“Now I am,” he said flatly.

“How do you feel?”

Quinn shrugged.

Really, why should he bother enumerating all his complaints? He’d been through worse, right? At least he wasn’t losing control and crying today. In response, Carrie came closer, taking forbidden steps into his room to scrutinize him.

“How’d the treatment go? I don’t think the first one changed much for me, other than making me feel like shit physically. It takes a few. But it’s still faster and more effective for severely suicidal depression than antidepressants.”

Carrie strode in further and finally settled down on the edge of his bed. Definitely not allowed. After yesterday, however, they were making more allowances, letting Carrie be more involved. She probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be, of course. He should be protecting _her_. But all that was over, now. He couldn’t protect Carrie. He couldn’t do _anything_ , it seemed. It was absurd, the trouble they were putting into keeping him alive.  What was the point?

Carrie looked worried. What was he doing wrong? How was he so easy to read, these days? She sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He remembered, vaguely, her doing this yesterday. It was comforting, somehow.

But the fog was back. Ever since the treatment, he’d felt just a bit confused. Confused? Was that even the right word for it? And he was told he’d later have trouble remembering this period of time. He didn’t mind either. He didn’t _want_ to think, and he didn’t want to remember _any_ of this later.

Later. He didn’t want there to be a later. He didn’t want to think about the future, because all he could imagine was more of _this_. That was just a cruel thought. It was unbearable enough in the present, and thinking of being forced to stay alive, but utterly useless, for day after day after day, was just too much.

“You’re very quiet. Tired?”

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, gravelly.

“It’ll get better soon. I _promise_ you, Quinn. You won’t always feel so hopeless.”

“How do you–”

Quinn started coughing, and couldn’t finish the question. That only exacerbated everything else – the headache, the nausea. Carrie rubbed his back, and glanced at the oxygen tank. She’d already grabbed the mask and was setting it up when the fit finally passed.

“I know,” Carrie began, still rubbing his back, “because I’ve felt the same way. And, for someone who usually has a great poker face, you’re really fucking easy to read right now. It’s the intensity of it. And I also know that it’s especially hard after the first treatment. You hold out your last bit of hope that it’ll change things, and then it doesn’t – at least, it didn’t do much for me, although I _still_ have trouble remembering that period. Anyway, I know I can’t fix anything, not really, but I hope my presence will give you some solace.”

“You shouldn’t bother. I can’t help you any longer, Carrie. I know you feel guilt – though _why_ you feel it is beyond me – and maybe doing this lessens that, but you should be–”

“As gratified I am by you talking, Quinn, no. I should be right here by your side, because although maybe I am trying to assuage some of the guilt I feel for all the wrongs I’ve done, my main motivation is _you_. It’s my _love_ for _you_. _The answer is yes._ I told you that, but you seem to keep forgetting it. Or who knows? Maybe it doesn’t matter to you right now. But I can’t leave you to suffer alone. I can’t. I love you too much.”

“Carrie, you make _me_ feel guilty. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this. I should be shot like an old dog, buried in the back of the woods somewhere. If you knew all the things I’ve done in my life, you wouldn’t–”

“As if I’m any better? Quinn, I seduced an innocent kid and sent him out to die. I killed innocents with drone strikes. There’s nothing you’ve done that could possibly give me more nightmares than I already have. You know all of that about me, but – well, at some point, anyway, you _still_ loved me. Right?”

Quinn nodded, slowly.

“So, in a similar fashion, I love you. And I _get_ it. I get it, Quinn. They tell you you’re doing it to save your country. They tell you that until you believe it, and believe that anything is justified in the name of saving American citizens. You were quicker on the uptake. You’d been wanting to quit for years, only to be sucked in again when your people called.

“Not quicker. Just been working there longer. They recruited me young.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dar Adal said. And that couldn’t have made it easy to see. But you’re a _good man_ , Quinn. They must have brainwashed the hell out of you as a mere _kid_ , and you still saw things for what they were when I couldn’t. You stuck around to save _me_ – and you did, over and over and over again – and later you went because you were desperate. I think you’ve been depressed before. You just didn’t know what it was. I should have seen it. Maybe I did, and ignored it, because for a long time, I was not a good person. I was the sort of person who saw you as a good asset, my best asset. But that’s changed. And yeah, I feel guilty. Not denying that. But human emotions are more complicated than you think. I might be driven by some guilt, but I’m also driven by love. Can you believe me when I say that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Quinn finally admitted, very quietly.

“Then just hang on until you can. This is the worst of it. You _are_ going to get better.” She paused, gazing at him intently. “Do you still love me?” Carrie finally asked, shakily.

“Carrie,” Quinn replied, “that, you will never have to doubt. I would do anything for you. One of the things that’s making me want to die is that I’m _useless_ to you now. I’m worse than useless. I’m a fucking burden.”

“No, you’re not. You could never be. You aren’t my asset any longer. I don’t care that your hands shake too much to fire a sniper rifle. I don’t mind taking care of you when you need it. You’re the man I _love_. I want you to be my partner,” Carrie said, eyes fixed on his. “I want us to have a life together, and for that, you need to recover from this. It’s going to take time and treatment. But you’ll do it.”

Carrie paused, then added, “Hey, have you had anything to eat? I asked Lupita – she’s been with you, Tee said – but she said you’ve barely even had any water. You think you could eat something?”

_I want you to be my partner._

“Sorry, I know you might still be processing what I said. But you really don’t look well. I think _I_ could take you in a fight right now, and that worries me. So will you try eating something? A piece of white bread, some applesauce? And you are definitely going to have more water. Your lips are cracked.”

“I’m fine, Carrie,” Quinn lied. “Don’t worry so much. But I will have more water.”

“Will you _try_ and have a little applesauce?”

“Okay.”

“Good. See? That’s all I’m asking of you right now, that you try and take care of yourself as best you can. That’s all anyone would ask of you.”

“Talk about low standards. But if it really makes you that happy, I’ll eat the fucking applesauce.”

Carrie grinned.

“I know I said that I was done with manipulating you, but this bit is for your own good, so it doesn’t really count.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Quinn responded, jokingly.

“I think I almost got a semi-smile out of you there. That makes me happier than all the applesauce in the world.”

Carrie’s grin turned into a glowing smile. God, she was gorgeous. Even here, even now, he couldn’t help but see how she shone. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. He’d never been much of a romantic. And he’d always been better with a sniper rifle than with words. Carrie was good with words. It was part of her brilliance. But he’d had to resort to proving his devotion in other ways, until now.

“You’re–”

Quinn paused. _You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful_. It just sounded so stupid and trite, as true as it was. This just wasn’t his way.

“I like it when you smile like that,” Quinn finally said, staring awkwardly at the ground.

“Oh, is _that_ so?” Carrie asked, flirtatiously.

She was beaming.

“Yeah, just like that.”

She was blushing, too, now.

“So, if I asked you to, say, eat something, smiling like this, you’d pretty much be powerless to say no?”

“Pretty much.”

Carrie laughed. It was a wonderful, full laugh. Then they just sat in silence, looking at each other, Carrie beaming, and Quinn looking – and feeling – more alive than he had in days.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lupita said, awkwardly entering the room with a vital signs machine, “but I need to get Peter’s vitals.”

“He’s agreed to eat some applesauce,” Carrie said. “Could you bring him some afterwards? And I think he needs water.”

Lupita placed the blood pressure cuff around Quinn’s arm. He winced slightly.

“You have pain?” Lupita asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Plus, I’m already on Oxycodone for the headache I got after the ECT, so I don’t think there’s much else you guys can do for it,” Quinn responded.

“Still, I have to record it. And I think we can give you a new dose now. What is the pain?”

Quinn sighed; Lupita was not to be deterred in finding out everything.

“I’m having muscle aches, and my headache’s getting worse again.”

“On scale of one to ten?”

“Five, maybe,” Quinn said. He hated this question.

“That means eight, maybe nine,” Carrie interjected. “I’ve learned to add about three with him. He will never report a ten, even if he’s barely able to speak.”

Lupita tilted her head and looked at Quinn again. Quinn sighed heavily. Finally, exasperated, he said, “Look, what does it matter? Just give me the fucking pain pills, if you can.” He paused, now annoyed by his own rudeness. “Sorry, Lupita. I know you have to write something down. I just don’t see the point, but that’s not your fault.”

“ _Someone_ doesn’t like admitting to any weakness,” Carrie teased, smiling mischievously.

“I think yesterday’s pathetic display kind of disproves that,” Quinn responded, and subsequently wished he hadn’t. Things were lighthearted there for a second. Carrie had been _beaming_. She was teasing, and he’d brought her down.

“Hey, Quinn, I know I can’t change how you feel about yesterday. You probably feel really humiliated and embarrassed. Just know that I don’t see any reason to feel that way, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Thanks, Carrie,” Quinn replied, hoping to go back to their earlier, flirtatious banter. But he was so, so drained. And his whole body hurt and his head was killing him and he could only hope Lupita would get him the pain pills soon. So he stayed silent.

“Peter, your blood pressure is extremely low. You need to drink more fluids. I am bringing you a bottle of water and I will ask your nurse about the Oxycodone.” Lupita paused. “If you can have it already, I will bring it also.” She glanced at Carrie. “And I will bring applesauce.”

Quinn nodded, then, belatedly, added, “Thanks.”

The headache was making the nausea even worse, so he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat, but, for Carrie’s sake, he’d try. He also knew he’d already lost too much weight recently. He’d been lean to begin with, so this couldn’t possibly look good.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled, stifling a groan.

“Hey, Quinn, just hang on a little longer. You could have said something earlier, you know. But you never do until it gets so bad you can’t hide it. Next time, please, say something when it _starts_. Okay?”

He nodded weakly.

“Here,” Carrie said, taking his hand, “squeeze my hand.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“You are _way_ too protective of me. I’m a big girl.”

“Thought – you liked – that.”

He could barely get the words out now.

“Five on a scale of one to ten, huh?” Carrie said, trying to mask the concern in her voice. “Here, sit up a _little_ and take this. Sit up slowly,” Carrie said, taking a small cupful of pills from Lupita, along with a paper cup with water in it. “ _Slowly_ ,” she repeated, giving them to him.

Quinn lay still until the medication started working. Once he could push the pain away, he opened his eyes again and reevaluated. Nausea was better, marginally. Muscle aches were gone. Much better, all in all.

“Water,” Carrie said, holding the water bottle up to his lips. “This one’s non-negotiable.”

“I got it, Carrie,” Quinn said, taking the bottle and drinking down the cool liquid. That did feel good. When Carrie took the top off a second bottle and handed it to him, he drank it, too. “Thanks,” he said upon finishing.

Carrie handed over a small plastic container filled with applesauce. He began slowly, but eventually hunger kicked in and he held the container up to his lips and drank it fast. He waited to see what, if any, effect it would have.

“Do you think you can have something else?” Carrie asked.

Quinn nodded, then groaned when Carrie brought out a bottle of Ensure. He hated that shit. They’d been trying to give it to him for days, but now _Carrie_ was asking, which made the situation entirely different.

“I can’t promise that I’ll have all of it, but I’ll drink as much as possible.”

“Thanks, Quinn. It’s nasty, but–”

“Yeah. I know. I need it.”

Quinn took a small sip, then another. In time, he drained the bottle. He felt nauseated afterwards, so he just lay back, hoping that the feeling would soon pass.

“So my sister is now asking after you every time I see her. Before she even asks _me_ how I’m doing, it’s, ‘How’s that friend of yours, Peter?’ _Un_ believable. You really charmed her that one night, and then of course she saw that fucking video, or part of it, and – yeah, she even asked if she could come and visit. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that, but I said I’d ask.”

 “Why’d you tell her where I was? What’d you tell her, exactly?” Quinn asked, feeling a flash of anger. Was Carrie telling _everyone_?

“Quinn, I was unbelievably worried about you. I’ve _been_ unbelievably worried about you. I confided in her, okay? I leave here, and I’m alone except for her. You are practically the only thing on my mind right now, too. And I would have just lied, but after I dropped you off here I had a little breakdown of my own, in front of her.”

Well, that just made him feel like a complete jerk.

“Carrie, _please_ don’t worry about me. I am not worth your concern. Besides, when I tried to hurt myself here, they stopped me. I’m perfectly safe.”

“You are worth my concern. Quinn, this self-sacrificing shit has _got_ to stop. My feelings matter, _but so do yours._ You do not exist simply to make _me_ happy, okay? You don’t have to hide your emotions, and you can react to pain. You don’t have to feel scared, or guilty, or whatever the fuck it is that’s messing with you. I don’t know if it was your childhood, or it’s just some sort of weird pride you have, but you’ve _got_ to let that shit go.”

“I did not tell you that so you could just throw it back at me in some stupid fucking argument. You don’t know me. _You don’t fucking know me_ ,” Quinn snapped angrily.  

“Quinn, whose fault do you think _that_ is? You have seen me through _everything_ , but you keep on pushing me away. And, again, maybe it’s the childhood trauma – and don’t say it was no big deal, that shit _fucks you up_ – and maybe it’s from your training.”

Carrie paused, drew in a breath, and then continued, “But if you want to get through this, you are going to need therapy. You are going to need to be vulnerable, to show pain, to open up to somebody. Doesn’t have to be me, of course. If you want to keep the relationship we have now, the fun banter, the jokes, but not deepen it, fine. Just, for your own well-being, open up to _someone_.”

“Carrie, here’s the thing: I _have_ to stay in control, because when I don’t, bad things happen. I hurt other people. I hurt myself. Maybe opening up comes naturally to you now. Not to me.”

“Okay,” Carrie responded, considering his words. “But even that, even what you just said, is opening up. So thank you. I hope you’ll come to trust me, and someone else too, a professional, who will help you, because for your conditions, medication or even ECT alone isn’t the answer. I’ve been seeing a therapist lately myself. Did you know that? I mostly talk about you, but we’ve worked on me, too. It helps, a lot more than I expected it would. I was stubborn about it, but I’m glad my sister prevailed.”

“Remember yesterday, Carrie? _That’s_ what happens when I think too hard about things.”

“I understand. You can’t afford to live with the memories, or the pain. So you shut down, you shut it off, do _anything_ you can to escape it. I know a little about that, believe it or not.”

“I remember Pakistan. You nearly lost yourself. I had to pull you back. But you did it, you were yourself again after that.” Quinn paused. “I don’t think anyone could pull me back if I went to certain places. I just can’t afford to do it.”

“You’ll learn. There is a middle ground. I’m living proof of it! If I can do it, so can you, okay? Will you see a therapist? They’ll recommend you to one with lots of experience with vets.”

Slowly, Quinn nodded, and then added, “And I’ll try with you too.”

“Thank you, Quinn,” Carrie said. “And I’m not pushing you just to stress or scare you. It’s just that you’ll need to learn to get well. If you want to go slow, we’ll go slow.”

Quinn nodded once more. Carrie was smiling again, but there was a tinge of sadness to it, too. They didn’t talk about anything substantive again for the remainder of the visit.


	8. Chapter 8

Carrie took a deep breath, composed herself, and headed for the car. Quinn’s belief that his pain – hell, that _he_ – somehow just _didn’t matter_ really worried her. Some of that was the depression, sure. But not all of it. And that, _that_ was what scared her more than anything else. She understood why he was scared to open up to people, to think about his problems. But if he didn’t value himself, didn’t value his life apart from what he could do for her, or Dar Adal, she wasn’t sure he’d ever manage to start afresh and live a healthy, normal life.

For better or for worse, working for the C.I.A. had defined him. He knew no other life, nothing but darkness; there was a reason – other than her manipulation, she thought, guiltily – that he kept getting sucked back into it. Now, as far as he could see, he had nothing. No value to anyone, and therefore, no value at all. If she couldn’t kill that thought, he’d never recover. The physical gains he’d made would mean nothing if he’d just end up killing himself, which – she was increasingly sure – is precisely what _would_ happen.

Carrie sighed heavily.

She wasn’t ready to lose him. She’d _thought_ she’d lost him, for a while, and it’d nearly killed her. She’d felt so helpless, watching him. Now she felt helpless all over again. If Quinn couldn’t learn to open up, was there any hope for him? And would he even _try_ to learn? He’d said he would, but maybe that was just to get her to stop badgering him about it. Fuck.

But no. No matter what Quinn thought, she wasn’t giving up on him now, either. And she’d fight for him, even if that meant doing things he didn’t particularly like. Maybe he’d hate her for it. Hell, he probably _would_ hate her for it, knowing him. But hopefully in time he’d understand why she had no other choice. The doctors had saved his life once. It was her turn now. Sure, the ECT would help. It would help immensely. But he’d need the therapy too. She’d drag him there. She’d _make_ him. She’d even stoop to manipulating him again. Because if there was ever a person a good therapist could help, it was Peter Quinn.

God, she needed to talk to someone herself, after all of this. She pulled out her phone and checked her schedule. Her next appointment was, thankfully, the next day. Maybe she could ask Kalinda how to best help Quinn. She’d asked before, but now she understood Quinn, and the situation, even better. Carrie sighed again as she felt a sudden heaviness descend. Even on her medication, she went through high times and low, and this was definitely a sign that she was going into a hopefully mild depression.

Kalinda would tell her to take it easy, to not sacrifice her own sanity just to try and help someone who was already hospitalized. She could practically hear her saying it already. And she did have a point. Plus, she couldn’t lecture Quinn about his martyr complex if she was going around doing the same thing now, could she?

Tomorrow, she’d go to her sister’s place, spend some time with her family. That was always healing. She could talk to her sister about Quinn, too. Hell, it’s not like she hadn’t spent hours doing that already. And unlike Kalinda, her sister knew Quinn. They’d only met once, sure, but Quinn had charmed her. She cared about him.

Her phone buzzed. A voicemail message, it claimed. Strange. Most people these days didn’t bother leaving them; they just sent texts. She got into her car, turned it on to get the heat going, and then resigned herself to listening to it. It was from, of all people, Dar Adal.

He sounded irritated. She couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t gotten back to him after their initial talk, and he was worried. He cared more about Quinn than he could admit; hell, the guy was practically a son to him. He’d exploited him, sure, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love him. She was proof of that. She had to get back to him, give him an update. Wearily, she hit “call” and prepared herself for the conversation.

“Hello?”

“It’s Carrie. I’m sorry I hadn’t gotten back to you. Things have kind of gone from bad to worse here, and I didn’t think of giving you an update. Frankly, I didn’t _want_ to give you an update. But that’s no excuse.”

“Bad to – what happened, Carrie?”

“He tried to kill himself. In the hospital. They stopped him, of course, and then he had a complete meltdown. He probably wouldn’t want you knowing this, but – oh, fuck it. He needs all the help he can get, and in your twisted way I do know that you care for him. When he failed – when they stopped him – he started sobbing, stayed that way for hours. I was told to come. They had no idea what to do. He was, to borrow a nurse’s word, unreachable. Even for me, at first. He talked to me a little, eventually. Since then it’s been the usual, except that they are giving him ECT–”

“ECT?” Dar echoed.

“Yeah, ECT. It’s not like in the old movies. It’s safe, you’re anesthetized, strapped down when they trigger the seizure. And don’t even consider saying it’s not necessary. You have no idea what he’s been like. It’s – it’s heartbreaking. And I have no doubt that he’s still suicidal. I hope the ECT will pull him out of it soon, but the main problem is that he thinks he has no worth outside of his possible ‘usefulness.’ And now that he is no longer ‘useful,’ he thinks he’s a burden on me and should die.”

“I never–”

Dar sighed heavily, and for a second they simply were silent, yet still connected.

“Maybe it _is_ my fault. He wanted so badly to earn my affection and trust when I met him. He was willing to do anything for me. Never cared about his own well-being, only completing the mission as I wanted it done. Until he met you. But maybe he only switched people to please. Goddamn it, Carrie. I should have told him–”

“We can’t change the past, although I do want you to try and explain that to him. If he’ll listen. He’s – unpredictable. Sometimes I swear I’m getting through to him, and then he’ll go and say something that knocks the wind right out of me, makes me realize I didn’t get through at all, that maybe there _is_ no getting through to him. And that scares me more than anything, because if we can’t change his mindset the ECT won’t be enough to save him. It’ll end up just being some sort of temporary fix.”

“I’ll go see him tomorrow. Are you going to be there? I’d like some time alone with Peter.”

“I was going to spend most of the day at my sister’s, but maybe stop by briefly to say hello. It’s been draining and I need to recharge; I can’t help him if I’m not healthy myself. When will you be there?”

Pause. 

“I’ll show up once the visiting hours start. I’m going to call the hospital about those, and what I can and can’t bring him. I’d also just like to hear from them about how he’s doing.” 

“Okay. I could tell you the–”

“It’s fine, Carrie. You’ve done a lot for him, and I appreciate that. I just want to speak to the hospital staff as well, myself.” 

“Understandable.”

“Thanks for your assistance with this matter, though. You saved his life. I’m certain of it. And I’m very grateful for that. Peter will be one day, too, I hope.”

Dar sighed heavily. Carrie remembered how torn up he’d looked when Quinn had been only clinging to life by the slightest of threads, and felt genuinely sympathetic. For all he’d done, Dar did love Quinn. And now he was facing the very same problem that she was: Quinn was having trouble believing he was loved at all, by anyone, and – when he did accept it – didn’t believe himself to be worthy of that love.

“I hope so too,” Carrie finally said. “I have to drive home now. Again, my apologies for not responding sooner.”

“It’s fine. Goodbye, Carrie,” Dar said, ending the call.

Perhaps it would be good if Saul went as well. The more people could encourage him, the better. Saul had always – well, _almost_ always – had a healing effect on her, too. Once she settled into a good rhythm driving home, she made the call to Saul.

“Carrie! How are you?”

Saul’s warm, friendly greeting made her feel better immediately. She was now more than ever grateful she’d been able to repair the rift between her and Saul. Living with enmity between her and her former mentor had hurt more than she’d known. Saul was finally okay with her staying in the private sector, and Quinn’s fate had bound their little team, formed so many years ago in what now felt like a different time entirely, closer together than ever. Saul was there for her, and had been for Quinn as he recovered from the Sarin. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of calling him back sooner.

“I’m fine, for the most part, but I’ve been dealing with something difficult lately, and I think you could help. It’s Quinn. He’s not well.”

“Somehow that does not surprise me,” Saul said, sadly.

“It’s not his physical symptoms that are worrisome, Saul, though those are still giving him trouble. He’s depressed, Saul. It’s very bad. I had to take him to a hospital. A good place, but still. He confessed to being ready to kill himself, and he’s deteriorated further since. He tried – very hard, too – to kill himself, _in the fucking hospital._ ”

“Wait, _what_? Carrie, am I hearing you correctly?”

“Yeah. I wish it weren’t true, but yeah.”

“What are they doing about it?”

“He’s on medication for his depression and PTSD, and after his suicide attempt and the way he acted when it failed – he was _sobbing_ , Saul, inconsolable – they decided to give him ECT so he’d get well faster. And he will. It works. But he needs therapy too, or will need it once he’s out of the worst of this, or he’s going to keep getting depressed. He has some fundamental beliefs that lead to very self-destructive thinking and behavior.”

“He was sobbing? Peter Quinn? Our Peter Quinn?” Saul echoed, incredulous.

“Yeah. It was fucking awful. I just talked to Dar Adal, but I figured I’d call everyone who cares about him because he needs to know that he matters, even now that he can’t do the work he used to do. He just can’t seem to accept that, no matter how many times I tell him that I care, that I love him, that – fuck, Saul, it’s been terrible, seeing him like this. Will you go visit him? Please? I’m only going for a short time tomorrow. Dar will be there, at some point. Maybe you can talk to him and find out when he won’t be there, so that you two don’t overlap. Dar seemed pretty intent on getting some time alone with Quinn.”

“Well, that’s good. They have a lot to discuss. Dar once talked to me about how he met Quinn initially. I’m sure you know too, now.” Saul sighed. “You know, he’s always had a self-destructive side to him, and he’s had it rough, given some of the things that we asked him to do when he was with us. I will absolutely go and see him. He deserves some peace. As do you, you know. Take care of yourself as well. This can’t be easy for you, either." 

“I’m scared, to be perfectly honest. It was bad enough almost losing him once. But this? This is infinitely worse. I feel like no matter what I do, I manage to make things worse.”

“Carrie, the only reason he’s still alive at all is you. And I’ll go see him tomorrow if you send me the hospital’s address. It’s been busy, but Quinn takes priority. You rest. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Carrie felt like a little of the weight on her shoulders had been lifted, and the feeling of panic that had started to set in as she’d initially walked out of the hospital was passing. Hearing from Dar and Saul would help Quinn, undoubtedly. And she’d stop by as well, of course. Between the lot of them, they wouldn’t fail. He’d realize that he was still loved, that he still _mattered_. She frowned as doubts began to creep back. Enough, she told herself. There was nothing she could do about it right now, and nobody would benefit – least of all Quinn – if she drove herself crazy as well. For now, she’d head home, then to her sister’s.

It would be all right.

_It would be all right.  
_

She wouldn’t lose him to this. She hadn’t lost him to the Sarin, after all. After that, there was no way in hell he’d end up letting the self-destructive urges win. Right? Right. Carrie forced herself to focus back on wrapping up her conversation with Saul, and then on the drive. It would be all right. She’d damn well make sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9

“Want to go outside?” Alejandro offered, hopefully. “It’s really nice out. You should really go. It might help,” he added as Quinn deliberated.

For the first time since he arrived, he felt well enough that the answer wasn’t automatically no. The ECT treatment – his fifth so far – had given him an awful headache, but it was medicated now. And he felt like he could finally walk without being weighed down by a coating of lead. It might be nice to go out into the sunshine, see the flowers.

After all, Carrie wasn’t coming until later, and it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do than sit alone in his room. And even in this vastly improved state, he knew that wouldn’t be pleasant. Left alone, his mind would drift into places he’d rather it not. Were he to go outside, however, maybe, just maybe, he could avoid that fate.

“Come on, Peter, you know you want to,” Alejandro said. “But you’ve got to tell me now, because we’re leaving really soon.”

“Okay.” Quinn looked up at Alejandro, managed a half-smile in response to Alejandro’s full one. “I’ll check it out, I guess.”

“Great! You’ve been added to the list of patients going outside. Go wait by the door.”

Quinn walked over slowly. He still didn’t have it in him to move fast. It just took too much effort. He tried to stay in the present, to focus on getting to see the sky for the first time since he’d arrived two weeks or so ago. If he had to think about anything, it would be about what Dar Adal and Saul had told him.

Firstly, there was the fact that Dar Adal had _apologized_ to him. He seemed to feel like what had happened to him – _this_ , not the Sarin, that had been his carelessness – was somehow his fault, when, for all the shit Dar had put him through subsequently, the truth was that he’d rescued him from a terrible situation. He’d been willing to do anything to please because he didn’t want to go back to the foster home.

So, yeah, he’d been the perfect teenager, the perfect young recruit, and didn’t dare rebel for years because he’d been terrified that Dar would deem him not good enough, not bright or strong enough, and send him back there. Dar had explained that he’d been aware of this, and used it. And then he’d apologized again. He should have made the fact that he cared about him, Peter Quinn, as a _person_ and not just an _asset_ , much clearer. Dar had haltingly talked about watching over him when he was at his sickest from the Sarin poisoning, how awful he’d felt, how _scared_ he’d been.

And then, voice trembling a bit, he’d _apologized._ He could hear it even now. It had been right after his ECT treatment, and he had fully expected to forget about it, but a day and another treatment had passed and he could remember it word for word.

_Peter, I fear that I’ve damaged you. I fear that I’ve made you not trust, to believe yourself bad and unworthy of love unless directly earned by something. I’m so very sorry._

He’d explained that his foster parents had done that, that the fucking _system_ had done that. He’d said that Dar and the Agency, at least at first, had felt like salvation from all that. And he’d thought he was doing right, once upon a time. Then that feeling had faded, never to return. He’d slogged through the rest of his time there. He’d tried to do good, save instead of simply kill. But he’d hurt so many people, so many _innocents_ , along the way.

Dar had told him not to dwell on it, that it was the nature of the intelligence game. That’s why I’m glad I’m out for good, he’d said. Dar had nodded slowly. Okay, Peter, he’d said. But don’t despair that you won’t find something else. You’re still that same bright kid. Let go of the guilt. Go to college. Start again. Don’t let yourself fall into this, please. You haven’t survived this much to die now. _Start again_. Start again, Dar had said, like it was easy. He was almost forty and his health was shitty at best. How the _fuck_ was he supposed to–

“Hey, Peter? You okay?”

Alejandro.

The patients ahead of him were already out the unit door. C’mon, he told himself, _walk._ And so he did, slowly. Then, after five minutes of navigating various hallways and staircases, he emerged into the bright sunlight. The patio was small, but pretty. The flowers were quite stunning; this was the perfect time of year to see them, Alejandro said. He walked around, inspecting each patch, feeling the bright sunlight on his skin.

He immersed himself in the experience so fully he even practically collided into another patient, an Asian girl with long black hair with a streak of blue dyed into it, doing the same thing. She looked up at him, tilting her head to the side.  

“You never go to any of the groups, do you? I’ve seen you in the hallway after ECT, but never in group. So I can’t figure out why you look so familiar,” she said, furrowing her forehead. “I’m Michelle, by the way.”

“Hey,” Quinn said. “I guess you’re right. I don’t go to the groups. I sleep a lot.”

“ECT will do that. I’ve had it twice: once for depression, once for mania,” she explained, and started on a long, rambling monologue Quinn wasn’t quite able to follow. She was talking so fast, and so frantically. Quinn could guess what had gotten her into the hospital this time. He recognized it from when Carrie had gotten that way.

He just hoped she wouldn’t go back to wondering why he looked so familiar. He didn’t want to have to explain the whole damn Sarin video story to a near stranger, even though he felt strangely sympathetic to her, by virtue of simply being stuck in the same place, albeit for opposite reasons. Plus, her manner reminded him of Carrie’s.

Carrie. He was really looking forward to seeing her. He felt so much better, so much lighter. She’d been right about the ECT. It worked fast. He knew that would make her so happy, and that in itself made him feel better still.

  “–do you do, when you’re not here?”

Right. Michelle. She seemed to have wrapped up her monologue, and was back to asking questions. Great. She was going to make him go through why he was so familiar, to be sure.

“I was Special Forces. Now I’m thinking of going back to school,” he said.

Was he really? Suddenly, he wasn’t entirely against the idea. He knew a lot about the world. He’d traveled everywhere. Maybe he could eventually go back, not to kill, but to offer assistance where it could be used properly. Then again, he didn’t think he could stomach being around a bunch of idiot idealists all the time, and those were the kind of people you tended to find in NGOs. So that was out. Also, his health wasn’t good enough for him to keep traveling. Best to stay in one place, for now.

Meanwhile, Michelle was off on another monologue. So much for a peaceful walk smelling flowers, he thought. Oh well. He was in a psychiatric hospital. Of course he was going to run into people acting bizarrely.

His mind went back to the school idea. Maybe he could go to a local college and do something with math, or science. He was good with numbers, picked that stuff up quick. And it’d be nice to be an engineer and work on creating instead of destroying, for a change. He might even turn out to be decent at it, if he was lucky.  

Quinn took a deep breath – the fresh air, pollen-laden as it was, felt so _good_ – and almost smiled. Engineering. He’d almost instantly picked up how to put all sorts of guns together, and take them apart. Repairing things had always come naturally to him too. Yes. This, he might be able to do. Suddenly, he couldn’t _wait_ for Carrie to come so he could tell her about this idea. She’d be so happy, seeing that he could finally see a future for himself he didn’t entirely hate. He could do something and hurt nobody. Just make small improvements.

The guilt wouldn’t be gone, nor would the self-loathing. He could never atone for all his sins. Never. They’d weigh on him forever, no matter what Dar Adal wanted him to believe. But maybe if he were lucky, he’d get through it. Live on. Find a new purpose, with Carrie at his side, _finally._ They’d gotten out. Not together, not the way he’d wanted, but they were both out, and now they were going to be partners. That was the word Carrie had used.

_Partners._

_They were out, together._

Yes, this he could smile about.

“Peter, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile,” Alejandro commented. He’d managed to distract Michelle and make her move on to talking at someone else. “We should bring you down here more often if does you that much good!”

“I was thinking about Carrie, actually.”

“Well, that’s an even better reason to smile. She going to visit you later today?”

Quinn nodded.

“Good, good.”

As they walked back onto the unit, Quinn felt a little flutter of excitement. _Partners_ , he reminded himself. _The answer is yes._ It was like something inside him had been covered in a deep sheet of ice, but now the ice was melting, fast, revealing hills and valleys full of life beneath it. He hadn’t felt this alive in years. Maybe Carrie had been right; maybe he’d been depressed for longer than he’d known, but just hadn’t realized what was wrong with him until it became so severe he wanted only to die. No matter. The ice was melting, at last.


	10. Chapter 10

“Well, this should be easy. You own almost nothing. But don’t worry, I’ll change that fast.”

Carrie said this as she looked at Quinn’s few belongings, which he’d put into a single box. He was moving out. They had a place of their own – a place for the _three_ of them – at long last. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure this day would ever come. Even after leaving the hospital, Quinn had needed to be driven to a local hospital for more ECT treatments every other day. He’d ceased being suicidal, but his mood had been bleak much of the time.

He’d been so sad for so long, in fact, that during these first, difficult few weeks after the hospital, Carrie had worried that he was going to wind up right back there once they went to “maintenance” ECT treatments, instead of the more frequent ones. But then, just when she was ready to give up hope he’d ever be truly well, the antidepressants began having an effect, and his mood had lifted. He’d still been too quiet, and too sad, too much of the time to make Carrie feel truly satisfied. But it was enough, just enough to make her feel safe he wouldn’t need the hospital again any time soon.

And now, three months later, here they were, getting ready to move in together. The best part was that, finally, Franny would be with them, too. While Carrie had to shift her focus to Quinn, Franny had mostly stayed at her sister’s house. She’d visited at least once a day, of course, but it wasn’t the same as having a place to share with her. Then, yesterday morning, Quinn had told her the news.

Thanks to his policy of owning practically nothing, Quinn had built up a substantial amount of savings, something Carrie definitely didn’t have. And, with those savings, he’d managed to make Carrie’s dream come true. Somehow, without her knowing, he’d ventured out to the house Carrie passed every day on her way to see Franny: a small, one-story white house with a lovely backyard. She’d long coveted this house, something she often mentioned to her sister, but hadn’t the resources to even put a down payment on it.

It had been, she’d believed, out of reach.

Until now.

Without her knowledge, Quinn had been talking to her sister from time to time. When she’d mentioned how frustrated she felt because of her financial situation, Quinn had offered to give her some of his savings. But she’d declined, insisting that they were better used on building a life for himself with Carrie – and Franny – by his side.

After she’d revealed Carrie’s obsession with the house, he’d actually bought it. When he’d told Carrie, she’d frowned at first, wishing she’d at least been consulted before he did such a bold thing. But when her reaction seemed to hurt Quinn deeply, she’d adjusted her perspective. He’d done something beautiful for both her and her daughter. Was getting angry that she hadn’t been asked first any way to thank him for it?

She’d apologized, and asked if they could start the conversation over. He said there was no need, and – of all things – apologized for making such a big decision without her consent. He should have told her, he’d said. He was very sorry. He hoped that she’d still join him there with Franny, although he’d understand if she wasn’t ready. The look on his face as he said that nearly broke Carrie’s heart, so she’d quickly allayed his fears. Of course they’d move in there together. Of course she hadn’t been lying in the hospital to give him something for which to live. She’d said that she wanted to be his partner because she did.

When they’d walked through the empty house for the first time, Carrie had finally felt a wave of joy and gratitude wash right through her. It was just the right size for the three of them. It had finally happened. They were out, together, at long last.

Things weren’t perfect, of course. Even with the medications working at full strength, and the occasional ECT treatments, Quinn still had what he called “dark days.” But she’d convinced him to go see a therapist, and he was making progress. Sometimes he’d get home from particularly difficult appointments utterly drained, unable to even keep up conversations with her. She let him be, supported him as best she could without asking anything of him. His PTSD was still a problem as well, but his therapist, a woman Kalinda had recommended to her, was well equipped to help with that, too.

As Kalinda herself reminded Carrie, though, healing took time. What mattered was that he was able to fight the self-destructive thoughts and impulses now. In addition to buying the house, Quinn had tentatively signed up for a class at a local college. Both meant he was thinking positively about the future, no small feat after everything he’d endured. Carrie had to remind herself of this sometimes when he had his “dark days,” and she started to feel like maybe it would never end. It would. She had faith. And even if it never did go away completely, he’d come so far that he’d survive it.

And now, here they were, ready to leave his apartment for the last time. Carrie wouldn’t miss it, that was for sure. And, for all the memories, she wouldn’t miss her place either.

It was time for a fresh start.

Suddenly, Carrie was forced to snap back to reality. Quinn was coughing, hard, in the other room. That hadn’t shown signs of abating, unfortunately. But he was learning to live with the limitations, instead of feeling like he was a burden who should die because of them.

“Quinn? You okay over there?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he responded, slightly breathlessly. “Just give me a second.”

Carrie walked into the other room to check on him just the same. Thankfully, he was fine. She looked at him fondly, and he glanced up at her. She smiled again before walking over to him and pulling him into a kiss. The two of them took forever to separate – they were, after all, making up for a lot of lost time – but once they finally did, both were smiling broadly.

Carrie playfully ran a hand through Quinn’s hair, and her smile broadened even more upon catching sight of his expression. There was something about the way he looked at her that she always found beautiful. He gazed at her as if she were something precious to him. And he did his best, all the time, to show that she was precious to him, even when it was hard.

“So, you ready to get out of here?” Carrie asked.

“Fuck yes,” Quinn responded, picking up his one box and reaching for the oxygen tank and duffle bag containing his medications.

“I’ll take that stuff,” Carrie said, before he could get to it. “Now, if only packing up my place were this easy. We’ll be at it for days.”

“No big deal,” Quinn said. “But, damn, I can’t tell you how fucking glad I am to be moving out of this place.”

“We’re out, together,” Carrie said, after a pause. “I can’t quite believe this is really happening. And Franny will be with us, too! It’s going to be amazing having her there all the time.”

“Yeah. She’s a great kid,” Quinn said. “Sometimes, when I feel really low, I think about her. I know she’s not my kid, but–”

“Quinn, she was charmed by you as a baby and she only loves you more now. Who gives a fuck that she’s not yours? She loves you, Quinn. We both do, okay? Don’t forget it.” Carrie paused. “That said, I have been thinking about what it might be like for her to have a younger sibling.”

“Have you now?” Quinn asked as they stepped out of the building and walked towards Carrie’s car.

“I have indeed,” Carrie said, grinning. “I don’t know where I’d be without my sister, after all. And Franny’s happy with us, sure, but wouldn’t she be happier if she had a sibling?” Carrie paused as she hoisted the oxygen tank into the trunk of her car. Quinn dropped his box in there as well. Moving her stuff in would be a pain, but before she knew it, Carrie thought, that dream house on the corner would be their home.

She still couldn’t quite believe this was really happening. It felt too good to be true. Did she deserve all this, after everything she’d done in her life? Perhaps not. But she was going to make sure she did right from now on, and she was going to do her best to help Quinn, and raise her daughter, and any siblings she might later have, well. If she could do that, maybe it would make up for some of the things she’d done. She knew that Quinn felt this way, too.

But dwelling on the guilt wasn’t good for either of them. They were blessed. They had a fresh start, as partners. Perhaps – and she couldn’t believe how much she yearned for something so conventional, not to mention utterly unnecessary – they could even make it official someday. But they already had so much. Every day was a gift. Quinn’s very presence in her life was nothing short of miraculous, she thought, as she drove towards their new home. A fresh start. Out, together. She thought she couldn’t be happier, until she glanced at Quinn and saw that he was smiling, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to give a huge shout out to everyone on the Carrie x Quinn LJ community for encouraging me to continue this story and eventually finish it. Guys, your support means so much to me. Thank you.


End file.
